


A Marvelous Time Ruining Everything

by onlyastoryteller



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Beach Mansions, Closeted Character, Ivy League, M/M, Old Money vs. New Money, Society Clashes, Summer Romance, country club, trust funds, wild parties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/onlyastoryteller
Summary: Armie Hammer is suffering through another summer trapped at his family’s beach estate in Westerly, RI. He just has to endure three months, and then he can return to Harvard, finish his final year, and maybe start making his own way...down the path his family has laid out for him. It’s not what he’d choose for himself, but it’s not like he has a choice. He’s the heir, after all. He’ll do what is expected, as he’s always done.What he doesn’t expect is the movie star who rents the house next door. Or that they’d have a marvelous time ruining everything.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 363
Kudos: 488





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oops.
> 
> I was supposed to sit on this a while. But you know me, no self control. Please don’t yell at me it’s been a rough year 🤗
> 
> I would say that I don’t know what this is but that’s not true. I know exactly what this is. I’m very excited about it and hope you find it intriguing.
> 
> Loosely inspired by Taylor Swift’s “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hence the title 😉
> 
> 100% fiction, of course. Let’s see where this goes...

_June 6, 1963_

Armie walked out past the high tide line. He kicked off his loafers, letting his feet sink into the moist, crumbly sand that had been smoothed by the ebbing waters. The ocean was calm, the tiny waves glittering under the near-full moon. 

He wished it was quiet, so that he could hear the water lapping at the sand. It helped him think. 

Instead, the gentle peace he sought was drowned out by the noise pouring out of the beachfront mansion behind him. His parents had complained throughout the afternoon and evening — polite dinner conversation for once impossible, for which Armie was actually grateful — about the music and raucous party noise next door. 

Armie didn’t think it was that bad from inside the house, but out here...sound traveled on the beach, and the party could probably be heard for a mile. Despite the fact that it had been going on all day, it didn’t show signs of letting up. 

He wondered if his father would follow through on his threats to call the police. Maybe he already had. Maybe any second, the noise would cut out as everyone left to go their own way into the Westerly night. 

At least the music was decent. Armie recognized the song currently playing, mouthing the words. It was something he listened to at school, a band out of England. It would never be considered appropriate at home. 

He closed his eyes and wished he were back at school. _Only three months of this prison_ , he thought, and then he could be himself again. 

“Hey.”

Armie froze at the sound of the voice behind him. 

“Hey, you.” The voice came again, brash and intrusive. 

He turned slightly, trying to communicate that he wanted to be left alone. “Can I help you?” he asked. 

“Turn around, would you? I’m not gonna talk to someone’s back.”

“You don’t have to talk at all,” Armie muttered, but he turned. A lean figure, cast into silhouette by the bright lights of the house behind him, stood about ten feet away. He had a bottle of something in one hand, dangling towards the sand. The other hand was twisting at a thread on the hooded sweater he was wearing. The bill of a baseball cap threw a shadow on his face. 

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he said. 

Armie blinked, and then looked around, relieved to see the beach was deserted but for them. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Armie said quietly. 

“What, that you’re gorgeous? Why? It’s a fucking fact.”

Again, Armie glanced around. The guy wasn’t speaking softly, that was for sure. He felt his cheeks heat at the compliment, one that was nice to hear, even if it shouldn’t be spoken out loud. 

“Well...thanks,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low. “But I’m not...I’m not—“

“Gay? That’s okay, me neither. I can still think you’re gorgeous, can’t I?”

“Would you stop saying that?” Armie said, exasperation in his tone. 

“I like that it makes you blush,” the guy said, laughing. “Makes you adorable on top of being gorgeous.”

“How did you know I was blushing? There’s not enough light out here to see _color_.” There wasn’t even enough light to see the guy’s face under his cap. All Armie could see was his thin frame, and the long fingers playing with the damned drawstring. 

“Well, I _didn’t_ know, but I do now. Gorgeous.” The guy snickered. “What’s your name, Gorgeous. Or I could just keep calling you that.”

“It’s Armand,” said Armie. He glanced up at his darkened house, wondering if he could make a run for it. 

“Ar _mand_ ? Jesus Christ, that’s a heavy name. I need two fucking hands to lift it off the ground. You got a nickname, Ar _mand_?”

“People called me Armie when I was a kid, but that stopped when I went away to school.”

“Why?”

“It’s a kid’s name.”

“If you were in school, you were still a kid,” the guy pointed out. 

Armie stared at him a moment. “I haven’t been a kid for a very long time,” he said. 

“That’s...sad, Armie. You should always be a kid, at least a little.” The guy swung the bottle up to his mouth, tipped it back, and then dropped it down again, the liquid sloshing inside. “How come you’re not at the party, Armie?”

“Oh. I wasn’t invited,” Armie said. 

“Everyone’s invited.”

“How do you know?” 

“It’s my party.” The guy stepped forward, stuck his hand out, and tipped his head back, allowing the moonlight to suddenly illuminate his face. “I’m Timmy.”

 _Holy shit._ He certainly was. The face that grinned up at him was the same face he gazed at for hours in the magazines he kept under the floorboard in his room at college, the ones he’d painfully tossed in the dumpster when he came home for the summer, because having them here was too much of a risk. 

This was none other than Timothée Chalamet, the movie star. 

The kid had splashed onto the scene the previous summer and released three hit movies in a row. The studios loved him, the audiences loved him, and he was lined up for more. Armie had fallen head over heels when he’d seen the first film last fall. 

And now he was standing here with his hand outstretched, introducing himself as _Timmy_ and waiting for Armie to actually fucking touch him. 

_And he thinks you’re gorgeous._

“Not a hand shaker?” he asked, waving his hand a second. 

“Sorry,” Armie said. He reached out, fumbled the grip for a second, and finally got it right, shaking Timmy’s hand firmly. The guy’s fingers were cool and slim in his giant palm. 

“Why don’t you come up now? There’s plenty to drink. And...other things, if you’re interested.” Timmy took off his cap and shook his hair out. “Probably gonna go all night, so you’re not too late.”

Armie fastened on his eyes, which were gleaming in the moonlight. The guy was definitely a little drunk, but seemed clear and coherent enough. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “But maybe another time.”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, this party will probably last through the weekend, anyway. You could come tomorrow.”

If Armie didn’t know better, he’d think Timmy sounded disappointed. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, knowing it would never happen. At school, sure, he’d party. Here...he couldn’t risk it. “I should go in,” he said, waving up towards his house. 

“That where you live?” Timmy asked. 

Armie nodded. 

“Cool, we’re neighbors. Have a drink with me before you go, neighbor.” 

Timmy held out the bottle. After a moment of hesitation, Armie took it. He tipped it back and took a long swallow. _Bourbon_. It burned its way down his throat and into his chest, and he coughed before handing it back. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

Timmy took a swallow of his own, and then grinned. “Now you _have_ to come to one of my parties. Since we’ve practically kissed.” He gestured at the bottle and wiggled his eyebrows. 

Armie let out a short laugh, and then turned it into another cough. 

“I have to go,” he said. “It was nice to meet you.”

He started to back away, and then turned and plowed up the beach. 

“Nice to meet you too, Gorgeous,” Timmy called. 

Armie blushed his way up the wooden staircase to the back lawn and got all the way into the house, where he leaned up against the back door, gasping for breath, before he realized. 

He’d left his loafers in the sand. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been his goal from a young age to avoid as much interaction with his parents as he could manage. Sometimes he was successful, sometimes not.

In the morning, Armie crept down the servant’s staircase, hoping to make it out the back door before anyone spotted him. He’d rescue his loafers from the approaching high tide, then go for a walk down the beach. If he timed it right, he could return mid-morning, con the housekeeper into feeding him brunch, and disappear until dinner. 

It had been his goal from a young age to avoid as much interaction with his parents as he could manage. Sometimes he was successful, sometimes not. 

Today, he was unsuccessful. 

“Armand.” Dru Hammer’s voice rang out in the rear foyer, and he froze with his hand halfway to the doorknob. Holding in a visible sigh, he let his hand fall to his side and turned. 

“Good morning, Mother.” He pasted a pleasant smile on his face. 

She squinted at him from the doorway into the kitchen. “Where are you going? Flora is serving breakfast.”

“I was just...stepping outside for a minute,” he said. “To check out the weather. It—“

“It’s sunny. You can investigate further after our meal. Come take your place.” She waved him towards her, and he ducked his head and complied, edging past her into the kitchen. 

Flora nodded at him from the stove, where she was flipping a pancake. An impressive stack rested on a plate beside her. 

“Morning, Flora,” he said. He swooped up next to her and kissed her on the cheek. Then he lifted the lid off a plate to the side and snatched a piece of bacon. 

“Armand, manners,” his mother said. “And where are your shoes?”

Silently, he continued on to the dining room, munching on the bacon and wishing his mother didn’t have the power to make him feel like a grade school kid again with just the tone of her voice. He wasn’t that young, awkward, kid drowning in shame anymore. At nearly twenty-one, he was an adult. He had been living on his own — sort of — for years. He was going to graduate college next spring and enter the real world. He was Phi Beta Kappa and a Fulbright Scholar. He had made future business contacts at Harvard that would make his father proud if he’d pay attention long enough to be aware of them. 

None of that erased the shame, it seemed. He wondered if anything ever would. 

He hid a greasy hand behind his back as he circled the end of the table and took his seat, his back to the windows. He’d often wished, as a child, that he could sit facing the windows, be able to see the spectacular view of the ocean beyond, but instead he’d spent every meal of countless summer vacations forced to count the stripes on the wallpaper of the opposite wall. He’d never counted much higher than a hundred before his eyes had crossed and he’d lost his place, so that remained an unsolved mystery to this day. 

His father looked up from his newspaper and frowned at Armie over his reading glasses. 

“Good morning, Father,” Armie said. He picked up his yellow linen napkin and shook it into his lap. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee and held up the blue, gold, and cream porcelain carafe. “Would you like a refill?”

“Yes, fine.” Michael Hammer dropped his gaze back to the paper. “What are your plans for the day?”

Armie hated this part. Any meal with his parents inevitably included an interrogation: What was he doing? Was it productive? Who would he be with? Who were their parents? What business were they in?

He topped off his father’s coffee and set the carafe back on its dish with a _clink_. “Not sure,” he said. “I was thinking of getting some air, and then going into town.”

His mother strode into the room, followed by Flora, who was carrying two platters. Dru settled into her chair opposite Michael and snapped her napkin into her lap as Flora set the platters on the table and began to serve up pancakes and bacon. 

“I’m having lunch with Alan Richardson at noon,” Michael said. He folded the paper and set it aside. “You can join me.”

“A lunch?” Armie asked, soaking his pancakes with syrup. “What for?”

“Include Margie,” Dru said. “And I’ll join you as well.”

“I will,” Michael said, ignoring Armie. “We’ll go to the club.”

Armie perked up. If they were going to the club, maybe they’d golf, and it wouldn’t be a total waste of an afternoon. 

“Margie will like that,” Dru said. “I’ll call her later to confirm.”

“I need to be there?” Armie asked again. 

“Yes, that’s the point. It’s time for you to develop an investment portfolio.” Michael smeared butter between his pancakes. “Your trust will be released in August, and you’ll need a way to manage that money, make it work for you. You’ll want Alan Richardson’s firm to do it.”

Right. The Trust. 

He’d been looking forward to getting his hands on that money for a while. Money meant freedom. Of course, he’d just do whatever he was advised, since the trust wasn’t bottomless, but it was a start. Something. 

His parents began to discuss the morning news then, and Armie tuned them out, preferring to focus on his meal. When he’d polished off the last piece of bacon and drank the last drops of coffee, he dropped his napkin on his plate and rose from his chair. 

They barely registered his _see you at lunch,_ and he gratefully slipped away. 

He bounded down the staircase to the beach, his feet slapping on the weathered wood. He jumped the last few steps onto the sand and landed with a _whumpf_. 

The beach in front of the Hammer estate, the private stretch that was theirs, was empty. Completely empty. Not a shoe in sight. Armie frowned. He was sure he’d left the loafers just above the high tide line. Tide hadn’t yet reached its peak, so they should still be here. Unless—

Armie looked to the east. Fifty yards away, the beach was far less empty. A large group of people were lounging on towels and chairs. A transistor radio played rock and roll music that carried down the beach. Coolers of beverages and food were scattered haphazardly around. A handful of guys were throwing a football.

In the center of it all, sprawled on a mint green plastic lounger, was Timmy. 

Armie swallowed. Memories of their meeting the night before seemed almost like a dream. A fantasy he’d cooked up while in his bed, his hand down his pants and his breath coming in gasps. That morning, while shaving, he’d decided that the meeting had happened, but he’d imagined the flirting. That part he’d exaggerated in his mind, a wish that would never —and should never — come true. 

It seemed his conclusion was likely. At the moment, there were three women hanging off of Timmy. He was kissing one in a pink bikini, one in green sat in his lap playing with his curls, while a third, in yellow, sat on the sand at his feet and rested her hand against his thigh. He certainly didn’t look like the sort of person who would have been flirting with _Armie._

Armie wasn’t disappointed. It would be ridiculous to be disappointed in something he’d only imagined. 

Timmy broke the kiss with Pink and looked west, his gaze immediately falling on Armie. He grinned. 

“Hey,” he shouted, waving. 

Armie hesitantly raised a hand and waved back. 

“Come on over,” Timmy called, beckoning with a long, pale arm. 

With a short pep talk to himself about not acting like an idiot this time, Armie loped across the sand. Timmy watched him approach, still grinning. 

Armie was imagining, surely, the way Timmy scanned him from head to toe, his gaze lingering a moment on his tanned calves. More wishful thinking. 

“Hi,” he said, when he reached the group. Several people looked him over, but most ignored him entirely. 

Timmy whispered something to Pink, and she gracefully stood from his lap. She went to a cooler, pulled out a tall can of Gansett, and crossed to meet Armie. She handed him the can with a smile. 

He smiled back, and then, as if it were pre-arranged, Green and Yellow got to their feet and the three girls ran for the ocean. Armie watched them go, and then turned back to Timmy. 

“Pull up a chair,” Timmy said, gesturing around. 

“I shouldn’t,” Armie replied. The can of beer was cold in his hand, and he was tempted to drink it and soothe his dry throat. But it was barely nine in the morning. 

“Who says?” Timmy winked. “Come on, sit down a minute. You’re gonna give me a sore neck if I have to keep looking all the fucking way up there.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Armie dragged a blue plastic chair over from a few feet away and took a seat. He’d stay a minute, like Timmy had suggested. He stretched his legs out in front of him and dug his toes into the sand. 

“Nice shorts,” Timmy said. 

Armie pulled his heels back and tucked them under the chair. Timmy snickered. 

“If you’re not going to drink that beer, bring it over here,” he said. 

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Armie extended his arm across the space between them, offering the sweating can. 

He expected Timmy to take it. Instead, Timmy cracked it open, cupped his hands around Armie’s, and guided the can up to his lips. 

Armie sat, transfixed, as Timmy’s fingers pressed into his skin, as Timmy’s Adam’s apple worked up and down, as a tiny drop of liquid spilled out the corner of his lips and trickled down his jaw and neck. 

Then Timmy tipped the can back down and released Armie’s hand. He blinked once, his green eyes full of mischief. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I should have left some for you.”

“That’s okay,” Armie said, his pulse skittering at the sense memory of Timmy’s hands on his. “It was yours anyhow.”

Timmy leaned back in his lounger and tipped his head up to the sun, closing his eyes. Armie stared at him, at the way his long limbs stretched across the chair, the way his nose curved just so, the pale expanses of his skin. It was hard to believe, but he was even more beautiful in person than in the magazines Armie had furtively purchased for the past year. 

“How was the rest of your night?” Timmy asked. 

“Last night?” Armie asked, stumbling to catch up as he was pulled from his thoughts. “It was...fine. I just went back home.”

“Did the music keep you up?”

“No. My parents complained about it at dinner, but I couldn’t really hear it from my room.”

Timmy pushed himself up on one elbow and twisted to look up at the Hammer mansion. “Where’s your room?” he asked. 

“West side,” Armie said. “Second floor, down at the end.”

“Hmmm. So have you lived here all your life?”

“I don’t live here,” Armie said. “I mean...I’m just here during the summers. I’m at school during the year. Harvard.”

Timmy let out a low whistle. “Fancy. And smart.”

Armie shrugged. He could tell Timmy he’d have gotten in on his name alone, even if he weren’t smart, but since he was, it wasn’t worth it. Besides, from what he’d read in the articles he’d pored over, Timmy hadn’t gone to college, so he probably wasn’t actually impressed. 

“But you lived here when you were a kid?” Timmy asked. 

“Not for a long time. I’ve been in boarding school since I was twelve.” Armie reached down and set the now empty can on the sand beside him. “What about you? What brings you to Rhode Island? Bored with the California beaches or something?” 

Timmy giggled, and it was a musical sound that had Armie unconsciously leaning forward. 

“Mostly,” Timmy said. “I had a break from shooting this summer and needed to get out of L.A. for a minute. My agent found this place. It’s rented through August, in case I decide to stay that long.”

Armie’s heart sank at the idea that Timmy would get bored and leave Westerly, hightail it back to the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles. It was likely, though. He himself was constantly bored here, longing to get back to school for three entire months. 

He felt like an opportunity was slipping through his fingers. An opportunity for what, he wasn’t sure...but he wanted a chance to find out. 

“What do you think? Of the area?” Armie asked. 

“I’ve only been here a couple of days,” Timmy said, “but from where I’m sitting, it looks promising.”

He smiled at Armie, and Armie’s pulse began to dance out a rapid two-step again. Okay, Timmy was flirting again. Right? Or was Armie imagining this, too?

In his time at Exeter and Harvard, Armie had gotten fairly good at cracking the code of flirting with other men. You had to be careful, not be too obvious. Start slow, move forward in tiny increments. The risks and consequences of being _wrong_ were too high. 

Timmy was _not_ starting slow...but maybe it was different in Hollywood. 

Armie cleared his throat. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “A little boring, I guess. Stuffy. But the ocean is nice. And there are good restaurants.”

“What do you do around here, anyway?” Timmy asked. 

“Mostly I do what it takes to avoid my parents,” Armie said automatically. 

Timmy laughed, and Armie grinned at him, relaxing into his chair. He stretched his legs out again, letting the sun and the ocean breeze hit them. 

“What are they like?” Timmy asked. 

“A little boring, I guess. Stuffy.” Armie smirked, repeating his phrase from earlier, and Timmy laughed again. 

“They fit in well here, then,” he said. “But what is there to do? Besides throw parties?”

“Go out to eat. Golf. Watch television. Go to the cinema. This,” Armie said, gesturing around at the beach scene around them. “There are also the beach clubs. A lot of people our age hang out there. I’m usually there a lot, but I’m waiting for more of the summer people to arrive. Most should be in town by this weekend.”

“What do the beach clubs have that this beach doesnt?” Timmy asked. 

“Food and beverage service,” Armie said. 

Timmy pointed at the coolers. 

“Service,” Armie said, laughing. “People taking your orders and bringing you burgers and...whatever.”

“I have a cook,” Timmy said. “You want a burger? She can make you a burger.”

“The beach is bigger, and less rocky. It has volleyball courts. Boats to take out. Lifeguards. Sometimes music. You know.” Armie shrugged. “It’s really just a place to gather.”

“Maybe I’ll check it out,” Timmy said. 

“You have to be a member.” Armie cringed slightly, anticipating the offense that Timmy might take at that. 

“So I’ll become a member.”

“You’d need a referral from a current member,” Armie said. He cringed again. “And they...are kind of stupid about it. Claim to be full sometimes.”

“I have pretty good success getting into things,” Timmy said, a little dryly. “Do you ever get to bring a guest?”

“Sure,” Armie said. Timmy smiled, looking at him expectantly, and he clued in. “Oh. I could, um...you could come with me sometime. To see if you like it. And I could refer you.”

“I’d love that, Armie,” Timmy said, his voice suddenly honey smooth and pitched a note lower. “It’s nice of you to offer.”

Armie blushed, and turned away to look out at the ocean, hoping that he might just look heated from the sun. He heard Timmy chuckle softly beside him. 

They sat quietly for a time. The radio continued to pump out its tinny guitar riffs and vocals. Armie watched Timmy’s friends cavorting in the water, having chicken fights and riding the waves. The football game had moved into the water as well. He felt himself relaxing further. As much as he hated being trapped here every summer under his parents’ judgmental scrutiny, he did like the ocean, and the way it smoothed out all the rough edges inside him. 

Finally, after maybe a half hour, Timmy spoke again, breaking the silence. 

“So, Armie. You’re coming to my party tonight, right?” He cocked his head to the side, his dark curls falling softly across his cheek. “Should be even better than last night.”

“Oh, maybe,” Armie said. The answer was no,of course not. He could probably sneak out after his parents had retired for the evening, but if word got back to them he’d been at a party like this...no, of course not. 

He couldn’t. Could he? He _wanted_ to. 

“Maybe isn’t a yes,” Timmy said, his lower lip jutting into a tiny pout. “Come on, humor me.”

“You seem like you’ve got a full guest list anyway,” Armie said, gesturing around. 

“Yeah, well...I know these losers already, I brought them with me from L.A. You’re new and interesting.” Timmy slid his foot across the sand. Armie’s breath caught as Timmy’s toe trailed along the top of his foot. “Besides...you seem to be lacking in shoes at the moment.”

Armie’s head snapped up from where he was staring at their feet. “I am. Did you...take them?”

“For safekeeping,” Timmy said. “Wouldn’t want just anyone to walk away with them.”

“Can I have them back?”

“Come to the party tonight and we’ll see what kind of deal we can make.”

“If I come to the party, you’ll return my shoes?” Armie asked. 

Timmy shrugged one shoulder and pursed his lips. “Guess you’ll have to come over and find out.” 

He stood up from the chair. 

“I don’t suppose you’re wearing a swimsuit under that,” he said, flapping a hand in Armie’s direction. 

“No,” Armie said. “I was going for a walk. And I have to meet my parents and their friends at the country club for lunch and a round of golf in a while.”

“Too bad.” He swiveled on a heel and began to walk backwards toward the water. “Tonight. Come by anytime you hear music. Promise?”

“I…” Armie swallowed. _Fuck it._ “Yeah. I promise.”

“Far out,” Timmy said, grinning broadly. “Can’t wait.”

Then he turned and ran for the water, his blue swim trunks hanging precariously from his narrow hips. Armie watched as he hit the surf with a splash. He shouted something, and the football sailed through the air. Timmy caught it gracefully and then threw it back before wading up to his waist and then diving beneath an incoming wave. 

When he popped up, slicking his curls back from his face, one of the girls maneuvered towards him and slung her arms around his neck. 

Armie rose, and, with one last look over his shoulder, trudged back up the beach towards his house. He hoped he’d have the guts and the opportunity to fulfill his promise. 

He wanted to see Timmy again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But in the dark, he was forced to admit to himself that it wasn’t working. He liked boys, and that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T.S. Eliot fans, you may enjoy the Easter egg in this one 😉
> 
> 100% fiction, of course. Enjoy...
> 
> Slight trigger warning for a passing reference to conversion therapy.

Armie was twelve years old and in his first year of boarding school when he realized he liked boys. 

In retrospect, he had always known, but it wasn’t until his dorm mates huddled around a contraband Playboy magazine one night, and he found he was more interested in being pressed up against Connor Clooney than he was in the centerfold spread of Diane Hunter, that he admitted it to himself. 

Then it was this secret, this thing he pretended didn’t exist. He knew he had to hide it, because of the way his father used the word _sissy_ , the way his mother would then cross herself and whisper a prayer. He sat silently, staring into his soup during one Christmas dinner, as his mother spoke in false whispers of the son of one of the prominent families in town who had been sent to a “special camp” to be cured of his “madness.” 

The message was clear: being gay was an affliction, something to be ashamed of, to go to great lengths to be rid of, if you could. 

Armie tried. He _tried_ to like girls. When he started at Exeter, he decided that he _would_ , no matter what it took. He pretended to enjoy participating in the ogling of the girls from the local high school. He hid magazines with centerfolds in easily discoverable locations, like his desk drawer. He went to the mixers and talked to the girls and tried to find their perfume alluring and their shapes desirable. 

But in the dark, he was forced to admit to himself that it wasn’t working. He liked boys, and that was that. 

It was his sophomore year that he learned he might not be the only one — at his school, or even in his class. James Grenville was assigned as his lab partner in chemistry. James turned out to be fun, a good conversationalist, smart...and he was adorable, thin with dark hair and large brown eyes. 

Armie began to look forward to chemistry above all other classes, and he wasn’t stupid: it was because of James. Then one night, while they were holed up in James’ room working on a lab report on atomic mass, Armie looked up from his notebook and realized James was staring at him. A few seconds later, he was kissing his first boy, and knew without a doubt that this was worth keeping secret, because he never wanted to give it up. 

He made a decision that day. He was going to be the most perfect student and son he could be. He’d follow all the rules, as best he could. He’d do exactly what was expected in every single area...except this one. He hoped that if everything he did was beyond reproach and exactly what everyone else wanted, he could successfully have this one thing for himself. 

And no one would need to look close enough to find out. 

The rest of his time at Exeter was for furtive exploration. By the time he moved into his dorm at Harvard, he had become an expert at the cautious dance of flirtation, at dating without dating, at having “cover” relationships with girls he could be with in public and take home to his parents. 

He’d fancied himself in love a time or two, but nothing seemed to last, and he’d come home for his final summer without any attachments of the heart and prepared for three months of celibacy. It was simply too much of a risk to expose himself so close to home. 

* * *

That evening, for the second time that day, Armie snuck down the servants’ stairs to the back door. This time, the house was dark and silent. His parents had retired to their rooms after dinner, and he had as well, claiming a headache. Now, it was time to fulfill the promise he’d made earlier. He opened the back door, slipped out quickly, and shut it behind him. 

Clutching a bottle of scotch that he’d pilfered from the overstocked liquor cabinet to his chest, Armie leaned up against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he took off across the back lawn, down the stairs to the beach, and east to Timmy’s house. Towards the music and the light. 

His stomach flipped, knowing he was taking a risk. But it was worth this small thing to see Timmy again. 

It wasn’t that Armie wasn’t allowed to go to parties. He was an adult, after all, and could do what he chose...mostly. His parents wouldn’t be upset that he was going out at night, or even that he was helping himself to a bottle of single malt. It was more that this _type_ of party, one that didn’t involve acceptable people with acceptable parents, that was loud and maybe wild, that didn’t end at a respectable hour, this _type_ of party would draw criticism from Dru and Michael Hammer. 

He kept to the rock line, where the sand wasn’t as deep, to avoid getting it in his shoes. A stiff breeze swept in off the ocean, ruffling his shirt sleeves and hair. From the smell of it, they were in for some rain. 

When he reached the stairs up to Timmy’s lawn, he hesitated. Should he be going up the back like this, or should he have gone around to the front? That would have taken a lot longer, though it would have been more appropriate, and when the Winstons lived here, that’s what he would have done. After a minute, however, he began to climb the stairs. Timmy hadn’t seemed terribly formal. 

As he reached the top of the beach stairs and stepped onto the back lawn, his nerves kicked into high gear. They’d simmered the entire time he’d dressed — in tan slacks, a navy blue Oxford shirt, and brown leather shoes, an outfit that took far too long to select — as he’d styled his hair, as he’d left his house. But now was another matter entirely. Each step towards the house, which was brightly lit against the night sky, made his heart beat a little faster and his breath hitch. He could see people moving around in a room to the left. Was Timmy one of them?

The back deck wasn’t empty, as it had appeared from a distance. Armie came to a halt at the top of the stone steps, realizing that he was intruding on _something._ A guy and a girl were tangled up on a wooden lounger just to his left, and they were doing more than just kissing. They’d been obscured by shadows on his way up, but now that he was close…

The girl lifted her head. “Hey,” she said. 

Armie averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said. “I’m just — sorry, I didn’t —“

“You were on the beach this morning, right?” she asked. She pushed up, untangled herself from the guy, straightened her blouse, and got to her feet. The guy made a sound of protest, and she ignored him. “You were talking to Timmy.”

“Yes,” Armie said. Now that he had a better look, he recognized her as the girl in the yellow bikini. 

She held out her hand, bracelets jingling up her arm. “I’m Penny.”

“Armand,” he replied, shaking her hand. 

She hummed. “You’re cute, Armand. How do you know Timmy?” she asked. 

“I don’t. I mean, we met last night.” Armie gestured behind him. “I was out for a walk. I live next door. He...invited me?”

“Neato. A local. He keeps talking about embracing the locals. Come on in, I’ll help you find him.” 

“Penny…” The guy on the lounger lifted his head. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, don’t flip your wig,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

She bounced across the patio to the back door, and, with one last apologetic shrug towards the guy, Armie followed. 

“That was Grant. Don’t worry about him, he’s just annoying,” she said, grabbing Armie’s sleeve and pulling him into the brightly lit house. She pitched her voice higher over the music, which was louder inside. “Last I saw Timmy, he was in the kitchen.”

Armie let himself be dragged around the corner and into the kitchen. Cans and bottles littered the counters, along with several open bags of potato chips, but aside from one guy who seemed to be passed out in the breakfast nook, the room was empty. 

She shrugged. “Okay, Maybe the rec room then. You want a beer?”

“Sure,” Armie agreed. His nerves were still vibrating under his skin. A drink would help.

She pulled a can of Gansett out of the fridge and handed it to him, and then they moved through the kitchen to the dining room, out across the foyer, and through a large parlor. He was vaguely familiar with the house, since its previous owners had been friends with his parents, but it had been a while since he’d been inside. 

The parlor looked like any other formal sitting room he’d seen in any of these beach houses, except for one thing: the stereo and massive speakers set up on and around the coffee table. It was deafening in here, and Armie couldn’t help but wince slightly. 

Penny noticed. “Too loud?” she shouted. He shook his head, but she dashed over to the stereo, fiddled with some knobs, and the volume decreased several notches, to something more reasonable. He was relieved, knowing the chance of the party being broken up by the cops had just diminished by about half. Penny sighed. “I _told_ Timmy he should rent a bunch of smaller systems instead of one big one — put them all over the house, you know — but he’s a dummy sometimes.”

“My parents have been complaining,” Armie said. “Someone might call the cops if you guys keep blasting the music like that with all the windows open.”

Her eyes lit up. “Fun,” she said, with a giggle. “Come on.”

Armie took a moment to digest the idea that having the cops called on you could be _fun._ He cracked open his beer and took a sip, and then followed her through a set of doors and into a large room full of people. 

“There he is,” she said, pointing. Armie scanned the area she was indicating and spotted Timmy. He was leaning across a pool table, lining up a shot. 

Armie’s eyes naturally fell to his ass, which was on full display in a pair of snug jeans. His white tee was just as snug, revealing his trim waist and hips. Armie took another gulp of beer to wet his suddenly dry mouth. 

Timmy drew his cue back and then took his shot. It was good, and when the 8-ball spun into the left corner pocket, he stood up straight and whooped. 

“Suck on that, G,” he said to the guy on the other side of the table. Then he turned, spotted Armie, and his smirk turned into a full-blown grin. 

Armie waved, and Timmy tossed his cue onto the table and bounded over. 

“You came,” he said, laying a hand on Armie’s chest. 

Then, in a move that had Armie freezing in surprise, he leaned up and kissed the air beside Armie’s cheek. Before Armie could process the way it felt to have Timmy’s cheek sliding against his, he repeated the process on the other side and then rocked back on his heels. 

“He likes to pretend he’s European,” Penny explained from beside him, clearly picking up on Armie’s surprise. 

“I _am_ European,” Timmy said. “Well...half.”

“What’s the other half?” Armie asked. 

Timmy leaned in close, and Armie could smell sunscreen, salt water, and cigarettes. “Pure New York Jew,” he said in a stage whisper. “But if anyone asks, I’m totally French Catholic.” His eyes landed on the bottle of scotch Armie was holding in his non-beer hand. “Hey, that for me?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Armie said. 

“That’s nice of you. You didn’t have to.”

“Never show up to someone’s house empty-handed,” Armie said. “That’s the rule.”

Timmy laughed. “Good rule.” He took the bottle and examined it, let out a low whistle. “You don’t skimp, Harvard, I’ll give you that.”

Then he grabbed Armie’s hand and walked backward, pulling Armie with him. 

“Do you play pool?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I do,” Armie said. 

“I just won a game, so the table’s mine.” Timmy detoured to a wet bar, released Armie’s hand, and set the scotch on a shelf before continuing on to the pool table. “But if you don’t wanna play, I’ll give it up.”

“I’ll play,” Armie said. He hesitated. “I should warn you, though, I’m —“

“Timmy, you got a light?” someone called from a sofa to their left. 

Timmy dug into his pocket and tossed a slim silver zippo across the room, where it was caught handily. 

“Don’t klepto that,” he called back. “It was a gift from Marlon.”

“Brando?” Armie asked automatically. Timmy merely winked at him and pulled him to the pool table, where they both picked up a cue and Timmy began to rack the balls. 

“You want to break?” he asked. 

“Sure,” said Armie. He looked around the room, at the dozen or so people moving around. “All these people came with you from Los Angeles?”

“Yup.” Timmy removed the triangle and hung it in its place. 

“Are they here the whole summer?”

Timmy shrugged. “Probably not. Some of them, maybe. Go ahead.”

Armie set the cue ball on the felt and lined up his shot. He drew the cue back and then let it fly. The three and six thunked into the pockets. He glanced up and smiled. 

“Guess I’m solids,” he said. 

Timmy raised one eyebrow. “Smooth.” Then he set his cue aside and folded his arms across his chest. “What else you got?”

Armie played pool frequently in Cambridge, and he was good. He toyed briefly with the idea of easing up a bit, but the desire to show off in front of Timmy won out. He ran the table for a while, sinking three more balls before he missed a trick shot. 

He backed away from the table and let Timmy take his turn. Timmy was good, too, sinking three balls of his own, but Armie cleaned up on his next turn. 

Timmy bowed his head in respect, then popped back up, tossing his curls out of his eyes. “As winner, you call next game. You want me again, or…”

“I want you,” Armie said immediately. Timmy grinned, and Armie’s stomach clenched, realizing the double entendre he’d just made. He swerved, trying to soften the statement. “I mean...I’ll give you a second chance. Maybe it’ll go better now that you know what you’re up against.” 

Timmy tilted his head to the side, his green eyes sparkling. “Now that I know there’s more to you than just a pretty face, you mean?”

“I’ll rack, you break this time,” Armie said, ducking his head to hide his blush. 

They were well matched, and played several games in a row. Armie continued to edge Timmy out, but just barely, because he found himself distracted. The first time Timmy crossed behind him and trailed a finger along his shoulder blades, he jumped. 

“Something wrong?” Timmy asked. 

“No, nothing,” Armie sputtered. 

When Timmy decided he needed to take a shot from exactly where Armie was standing, he slid up beside Armie and nudged him with his hip. Armie couldn’t resist standing his ground for a moment, letting Timmy press up against him, all lean and wiry, before ceding the space. Timmy shot him a knowing look. 

Armie found himself enjoying the over the top flirtation. No one in the room seemed to notice or care what they were doing, and it was freeing for Armie to express interest in someone in a more open manner than he was used to. He felt... _seen_ , and in a good way. 

Never mind the fact that the guy who was showing interest in him was Timothée fucking Chalamet. That would likely give him a heart attack if he thought too hard about it. 

But then a few of Timmy’s friends wandered over to watch, and Timmy introduced Armie around. He met Giullian, whose glossy hair Timmy affectionately ruffled; Joey, who walked up behind Timmy, wrapped his arms around Timmy’s waist, and rested his chin on Timmy’s shoulder; and Scott, who returned Timmy’s lighter by slipping it right into his pocket. 

Armie watched it all, participating in the lighthearted conversation around him. Remembering what he’d seen on the beach that morning as well, he couldn’t help but wonder if Timmy was this comfortable and physical with _everyone_. Maybe Armie wasn’t a special target at all, and this is just how the guy acted. 

After a while, Timmy hung his cue on the wall.

“Okay, I’m willing to concede that you _are_ the better player,” Timmy said. “Just a little better.”

“Lots of practice,” Armie said, shrugging. 

“I need some air. Want to join me, or do you want to keep playing?”

“I can — I’ll join you. If you aren’t sick of me,” Armie said. 

Timmy laughed, his eyes bright. “Not yet, I’ll let you know.”

Armie handed his cue off to a waiting Giullian and followed Timmy over to the bar. Timmy snagged the bottle of scotch Armie had brought, along with two glasses. He handed them off to Armie and then tucked a finger in Armie’s left front belt loop, turned, and led Armie through the house to the back patio. 

It was empty now — Penny and Grant must have taken their activities elsewhere — and shadowy, since the moon was fully behind clouds. Timmy let go of Armie and flopped onto the patio sofa. 

“Have a seat,” he said. 

Armie sank onto the cushion beside Timmy, not touching, but within sliding distance. He set the scotch and glasses on the coffee table. “You should close your windows. It’s going to rain,” he said. 

“Yeah?” Timmy peered out at the ocean. “How can you tell? Just because of the clouds?”

“The way the air feels heavy, like it’s already soaking up the moisture. And the way it smells. Petrichor.”

Timmy swiveled his head and squinted at Armie. “Petra-what?”

“Petrichor. It’s the way the air smells before it rains. It’s like...earthy and wet and kind of charged.” Armie shrugged. 

“Okay, Harvard,” Timmy said with a giggle. “That’s my word for today. _Petrichor_. Think up another good one to teach me tomorrow.”

Armie’s heart sank. He was being insufferable again. People told him that all the time, heaving sighs and rolling their eyes and telling him to stop trying to show everyone how smart he was. He never meant to. He just...read a lot, and remembered things he thought were interesting, and wanted to share that with others. 

“I don’t...I didn’t mean to be a know-it-all,” Armie said, fidgeting in his seat. “Sometimes I—“

“You weren’t,” said Timmy. “You’re smart, that’s neat. Don’t be ashamed of it.”

“I’m not trying to show off,” Armie said. “Or make you feel like...I know people get annoyed with me. For saying stupid shit like that.”

“Armie.” Timmy laid a hand on Armie’s forearm, rubbed gently. “I’m not annoyed. I like knowing what Petra- what was it again?”

“Petrichor.”

“Petrichor. I like knowing what that is. I promise.” 

In the semi-darkness, Armie could just make out Timmy’s smile. And he could hear the sincerity in his voice. 

They sat quietly for a few minutes, Timmy’s hand still resting lightly on Armie’s wrist. The music from inside the house was more muted than it had been when Armie arrived, and he felt a calm settle over him. That shouldn’t be, not when he was actually contemplating making a move on Timothée Chalamet. He should be on edge. Instead, he was relaxed. 

Then Timmy dug a hand into his pocket and drew out the lighter and a slim cigarette. He flicked the lighter and then held the flame one one end of the cigarette, rotating it slowly between his fingers, before puffing gently on it to stoke the ember. He took a drag, blowing the smoke up into the air in a steady stream, and then held it toward Armie. 

“You interested?” he asked. 

Armie smelled the telltale hint of skunk in the air. It wasn’t a cigarette, it was a joint. 

“Oh,” he said. “Um…”

Timmy paused, his eyes going wide. “Have you never smoked pot before? I figured, you’re in college...” 

Armie hadn’t. It was part of the _every area but_ that he’d determined should be conducted within the rules. So he’d always declined. 

He shrugged. “I’m just careful,” he said, trying to explain. “With things that could risk...my education, or my future, or...that would bring my parents scrutiny down on me more than it already is.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Timmy said. “If you want to smoke this with me, you can, but it’s not a requirement.”

Armie hesitated. He wasn’t at school at the moment. They were on private property, property that didn’t belong to his parents. Parents who didn’t even know he was over here. The risk really was minimal. If there was any time to try it, maybe now was that time. He’d been so good for so long...

And he suddenly wanted to _share_ something with Timmy, on this patio in the dark. 

“Maybe I’d like to,” he said, finally. “If you’re offering.”

“I am,” Timmy said. “You ever smoke cigarettes?”

“Occasionally,” Armie replied.

“So it’s just like that. Except maybe don’t take as hard of a pull. And when you inhale, hold it in an extra second before letting it out.” Timmy held out the joint between slim fingers, and Armie took it gingerly. 

The tip was moist from being in Timmy’s mouth, and Armie savored the moment when his lips wrapped around the end. He took a healthy drag, inhaling the slightly acrid smoke. He tried to hold it in the way Timmy had advised, but he could feel a cough building, so he breathed it out and watched the smoke swirl into the air around him. 

They passed the joint back and forth for a few minutes before Timmy pinched out the end and stuffed it back in his pocket. 

“This shit’s pretty strong,” he said in explanation. “You’re a decently big guy, but I don’t want you to overdo it your first time out. How do you feel?”

“Fine?” Armie shrugged. “I’m not really feeling any different.”

“You will,” said Timmy. He snagged the scotch, popped off the top, and poured two healthy helpings in the glasses. He handed one to Armie. “You do drink, right? You had that beer when you first came in.”

“Yeah. I guess technically that’s breaking the rules, too, since I’m not twenty-one yet, but...it’s a more acceptable rule to break.” Armie rolled his eyes. “Fuck, I sound like the biggest asshole.”

“You don’t,” said Timmy. “You sound like someone who’s spent a lot of time knowing people are watching you, and you’ve learned to play their game.”

Armie turned and stared at Timmy. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. It’s just easier. Safer. You know?”

“Sure I know. I work in fucking Hollywood.” Timmy raised his glass. “Anyway, cheers to...knowing which rules to break and when to break them.”

Armie clinked his glass against Timmy’s, and then settled back against the sofa cushion and took a sip. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. Out of habit, Armie began to count. _One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…_

He got to seven Mississippis before lightning flashed. 

“Still a ways off,” he murmured. 

They sat in silence for a while, silence that was far too comfortable for having just met. Armie listened to the thunder growing gradually louder, watched the lightning follow more quickly. He felt the warmth of the scotch in his belly, and the alcohol was blurring the edges of his sensation, making everything feel softer. Like he was drifting. 

“How do you feel now?” Timmy asked. It seemed like his voice floated over to Armie through a gossamer fog, and Armie had to grasp at the words, pluck them out of the air and force them to attach to his brain. 

“Goo-ood,” Armie said, elongating the vowel sound. He said it again. “Goooood.”

Timmy snickered beside him. “Nice.”

There was a thought in Armie’s brain, just out of his reach. What was it?

“That’s the pot,” Timmy said. 

Yes; that was it. That was the answer Armie needed. This was what it felt like to smoke pot. 

“It’s...nice,” he said. 

“Yeah, it is,” Timmy agreed. 

Armie liked this. He liked sitting here, in the dark, beside a guy who made his insides all shivery. He liked not being home, not caring if his parents would approve. He liked the way the smoking made him feel, relaxed and stress-free, and he wondered what else he’d missed out on by following all the rules all the time. 

“I’ve measured out my life with coffee spoons,” he said. 

“You’ve what?” 

Timmy’s voice was hushed, and Armie realized he must have whispered. That felt appropriate, as though he were sharing a precious bit of information. 

“I’ve tried so hard to be...boring. Only remarkable in ways that would be acceptable to them. To everyone. And for what?” Armie turned to Timmy, leaned forward. “They don’t really approve of me. I’m never good enough, no matter how perfect I am. And if they knew, if they knew about…it would all be over in an instant.”

“Knew about what?” Timmy asked, leaning in as well, so their faces were mere inches apart. 

“Knew about _me_. That I’m—“

The door opened, and two people spilled out onto the patio in an explosion of giggles. Armie jolted back in his seat and shifted a few inches away from Timmy, his heart pounding. 

“There you are,” one of the girls said. It was the one who’d been wearing pink that morning. The other girl was new, Armie had seen her inside dancing in a corner, but they hadn’t been introduced. 

“You found me,” Timmy said, grinning broadly. The girl collapsed onto his lap in a heap and kissed him on the cheek. “Armie, this is Flo. And that’s J.C. This is Armie, he lives next door and has a great vocabulary.”

“Hi, Armie,” Flo said. 

J.C. took a seat between Armie and Tim. “Nice to meet you,” she said. 

Flo poked Timmy in the chest. “Where’s that joint I rolled?” she asked. “I did the work, I should get some reward.”

Timmy dug into his pocket and pulled out the half-smoked cylinder and the lighter. “Here you go,” he said. “Sorry we started without you.”

In a moment, the joint was lit again, and they passed it around. Armie tried to ignore the sinking feeling he was experiencing in his chest. 

The girls chattered about plans for the next day — something about shopping and dinner — as the thunder got louder up above. Armie felt the tiny prickle of a first raindrop, and then a second. The third was bigger, splattering right on top of his head. 

He turned to Timmy to say something about getting back inside, and gaped. Flo had her hands on either side of Timmy’s face and was kissing him like she hadn’t seen him in years. Timmy gripped her waist, and didn’t seem to be opposed to the activity. 

“They tend to do that,” J.C. said. “It’s kind of annoying.”

“Oh,” was all Armie could say in response. He was beginning to feel sick. 

“You wanna?”

“What?” Armie blinked and tried to focus on the girl. 

“Make out. You wanna? You’re adorable.” She was grinning at him, a pretty, expectant smile. 

Armie swallowed hard. Then he shook his head. “I shouldn’t,” he said. 

She shrugged. “That’s too bad.”

He felt hot, and itchy, and like he needed to move, _now,_ or else something bad was going to happen. He got to his feet. 

“I have to go,” he said. He realized he was still holding his empty scotch glass. He shoved it at J.C. “Here. It was nice to meet you.”

Then he turned and moved towards the steps. 

“Wait — Armie —“ he heard Timmy call. 

Armie stopped, turned just his head. He couldn’t really see Timmy, just out of the corner of his eye. That was better. 

“You’re going?” Timmy asked. 

“Yeah. I have to get home. Thanks for inviting me.” He hesitated. “It’s raining. You should go inside. And close the windows.”

Then he descended the stairs and crossed the lawn in giant strides. By the time he reached the beach, it was raining in full, and by the time he made it back to his door, he was soaked. 

Thunder crashed, and lightning cracked overhead. He snuck back into the house, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and blot it all out. 

He’d been wrong about Timmy. And that fucking sucked. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie woke the next morning with a clearer head than he would have expected and only one moment of confusion: why am I naked?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% fiction, of course.
> 
> Thanks to a bunch of folks who helped me with a couple of sticky points here. (Littlesistercharlie, dontsqueezethecharmie, cancmbyn, marauderjules, and peachyperfect ❤️) I’m so grateful!
> 
> Enjoy!

_Naked._

Armie woke the next morning with a clearer head than he would have expected and only one moment of confusion: _why am I naked?_

He looked around his bedroom, blinking sleep out of his eyes. The light coming in the windows was grey and muted, and as he oriented himself to consciousness he realized it was still raining, the patter of the raindrops a white noise around him. 

His clothes from the previous day were tossed haphazardly across the chair in the corner, and his shoes were on the opposite side of the room, against the wall. The events of the night before flooded back in a rush, and he winced at the memory, the pit in his stomach growing larger. 

When he’d entered his room, he’d kicked the shoes off impatiently, then discarded his clothes and crawled under the sheets without bothering to turn on the light and find his pajamas. He’d stubbornly squeezed his eyes shut until he finally fell asleep. Had he tracked mud through the house while coming in? He hoped not. It would just mean there’d be questions, and he didn’t have answers. 

He rubbed his hands across his face and gave himself a pep talk. He hadn’t lost anything, he reasoned, because Timmy was never his to begin with. It had all been in his head, the way he thought Timmy was flirting with him and indicating interest. 

Armie recalled what Timmy had said on the beach — _you’re new and interesting_ — and what Penny had said the night before — _he keeps talking about embracing the locals_ — and saw how he’d misinterpreted the situation. 

Timmy wasn’t interested in him. Timmy had a girlfriend. Timmy flirted with everyone, was affectionate with everyone. He was just open, and friendly, and not hung up on things like whether it was acceptable for two men to be touching so much. 

Armie was a novelty to Timmy, that was all. It was his own damned fault that he’d read more into it than was actually there. He could blame it on his magazine fantasies and on getting a little star struck. 

None of this made him feel any better...but at least he knew, rationally, that he was thinking straight again. 

But what now? He couldn’t just go back over there, not after the way he’d embarrassed himself. He pulled the covers over his face as if to hide from the memory. It was the pot, it must have been. He’d just kept talking, telling Timmy things he had no business sharing with a stranger. For fuck’s sake, he’d nearly—

Armie sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding. _He’d nearly told Timmy he was gay._ But he hadn’t. He’d stopped...right? He searched his memory for the moment. Yes, just before he’d been about to say it, the girls had interrupted. Thank god. He couldn’t believe he’d been about to _out himself_ to Timothée Chalamet. 

He’d never said the words aloud before. To anyone, not even himself. 

With a frustrated huff, he threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. He just needed to put it behind him and move on. It didn’t matter how bad he felt...that wouldn’t change anything, so he just had to live with it. 

He didn’t feel up to facing his parents at breakfast, so he slipped down to steal some food and return to his room before they arrived. When he reached the kitchen, Flora was pulling fresh blueberry muffins out of the oven. 

“Those smell incredible,” he said. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Flora said. “Will you eat two or three?”

He smiled. After years working for the Hammers, she knew that when he arrived early he was looking to escape. “Two is fine. And maybe—“

She set a frying pan on the stove. “Bacon coming right up. Get yourself a glass of orange juice. Coffee will be ready in a minute.”

“Thanks, Flora,” he said. 

“Next time you sneak in during a rainstorm, take off your shoes inside the door and leave them in here,” she said, shooting him a look. 

He blushed. So he _had_ tracked evidence in, and she’d taken care of it. “Thanks,” he said again. 

“So where were you off to?” she asked, as the bacon began to sizzle. “Somewhere fun, I hope.”

He hesitated, and then sighed. “It was supposed to be. I went next door.”

“Ah, to see the movie star,” she said. 

He blinked. “How do you know—“

“He hired a friend of mine for the summer. But word will be getting around quick enough. You know this town.” She turned the bacon. “What’s he like?”

“He’s...nice,” Armie said. It was true, at least. “Very friendly. A little odd.”

“Odd?”

“He isn’t...he doesn’t seem concerned with what people think. He just does things and says things and seems to be having a good time.” Armie smiled. “He laughs a lot.”

“Good-looking gentleman, from what my friend tells me. And very polite.” She winked, and turned off the burner. “Grab yourself a tray.”

Armie went into the pantry to collect the item, and gave himself a second to breathe before he returned. Flora was sharp, and he’d wondered for a long time if she knew about him. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she might suspect.

She didn’t say anything more about Timmy, or ask about his evening, as she set a plate with two muffins and four slices of bacon on the tray, along with the orange juice, a mug of coffee, and a dish of butter. 

“Let the muffins cool another minute or two before cutting them open,” she warned. “And bring everything back before—“

“Before the ants find it. Yes, ma’am.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek as he took the tray. “Could you do me a favor and not mention about next door—“

“What would I mention? I know nothing,” she said. “Go, before your mother decides to come down early to ‘help’ me again.”

He smirked and skedaddled back up to his room. 

* * *

Because he’d successfully avoided breakfast, he decided to make an appearance at lunch. He could have gone out, but it was still pouring, and his summer friends were probably only just arriving. So he slid into his place at the table just as his father walked in. 

The man was grinning, which was usually not a good thing. 

He sat in his place and picked up his napkin, snapping it onto his lap. Then he took a sip from his water goblet and grinned at Armie. 

“Guess who I was just on the phone with,” Michael said.

“Who?” asked Dru. She plucked a warm roll out of the bread basket and passed the basket to Armie. He selected a roll for himself and ha see it along to his father. 

“Joe Chambers.” Michael leaned back in his chair as Flora approached with the soup tureen. 

“Oh? That’s nice, how are they? Last time I saw Judy it must have been...was it as far back as Harvard-Yale last fall?” 

“It was,” Michael said. “We spoke about what a good weekend that was for us all.”

“Yes. I’m tasting the meal we had at the Oyster House just by thinking about it. Let’s make sure to go back there this year.”

“Agreed,” Michael replied. “That was quite the weekend, wasn’t it, Armand?”

Armie paused in blowing on his soup. “Yes, Sir. It was a nice weekend,” he said. 

His parents had come up to Cambridge for the annual Harvard-Yale football game. They didn’t make a habit of visiting him at school, so whenever it happened it was an event. They’d stay at the Omni Parker House —- _if it’s good enough for a Kennedy, it’s good enough for me_ , Michael was known to say to whomever would listen — make reservations at the finest and most prestigious restaurants, and stroll around campus pointing out locations fondly, since his father had attended Harvard while courting his mother. 

Meanwhile, Armie would trail behind, trying to look and act the way the heir to Hammer Industries should look and act. 

“In any event,” Michael continued, “Joe and I were reminiscing about that weekend, as well as the trips we’ve taken together in the past, and he decided they’re going to come out to visit this summer.”

Armie carefully set his spoon down, and listened. 

“That’s wonderful,” Dru said. “When are they coming?”

“They’ll be here for Independence Day weekend and plan to stay a few weeks.” He grinned again, this time directed at Armie. “I bet that will have you feeling more enthusiastic about the summer here.”

Armie nodded. “Sure,” he said, mustering a smile. “That’ll be great.”

If Joe and Judy Chambers we’re coming for a visit, that meant they’d be bringing Elizabeth. And that meant —

“I’m sure there will be some plans to be made,” Dru said with a knowing smile. She reached over and patted Armie’s hand, and he pushed his chair back and stood. 

“That’s great news,” he said. “May I be excused? I need to—“

“Have a phone call you want to make?” Michael chuckled, and waved his hand towards the door. “Go on, then.”

Armie dropped his napkin on his chair, and Dru raised her hand.

“Oh, Armand, your father and I will be out for the day tomorrow, to see the Harrisons, and we won’t be back until late. Flora will leave meals for you, but I gave her the day off.”

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Then he fled the room. The last thing he wanted was to make the phone call his father thought he was making, but he went into his father’s study anyhow, to make it look like he was. He could hide in here until lunch was over, waiting for the nausea to subside, just as easily as he could hide anywhere else. 

* * *

On Sunday, it was still raining. Michael and Dru left after breakfast, anxious to get on the road for the day trip to Hartford before the new storm that seemed to be brewing unleashed itself. Armie watched them go with relief. If he was going to be cooped up in the house again, feeling depressed, he’d rather no one be around to see it. 

He wandered from room to room for a while before settling in the den with a book. A couple of hours later, he was on the same page he’d started on and no closer to knowing what was on it. With a sigh, he set the book aside and went to make himself a sandwich. 

After lunch, he was about to turn on the television, just to have some noise besides his thoughts to keep him company, when the back doorbell rang. 

Armie frowned in the direction of the back door. Had one of his friends arrived early and decided to swing by without calling first? It seemed unlikely, especially coming to the back door. Who would be coming from the beach, in the pouring rain?

The bell rang again, and, with a shrug, he went to investigate. When he peered through the window, he froze. 

Standing on the back patio, wearing a giant grey hooded sweater and yellow track pants, and hopping from sandaled foot to sandaled foot, was Timmy. 

_What was Timmy doing here?_

Timmy’s face, partially hidden under the sodden hood, burst into a grin when Armie appeared in the window. 

“Hey!” he shouted. “Open up.”

Armie dumbfoundedly unlocked the door and twisted the handle. He took a deep breath before he pulled it open. 

“Hi,” he said. “What are you...I mean, hi.”

Timmy bounced on his toes. “I have a gift for you,” he said. “That’s the rule, right? Never show up to someone’s house empty-handed?”

Armie realized Timmy was holding his hands behind his back. The sweater was so bulky he’d missed that initially. “Oh. Um…yeah, the rule. But you don’t have to—“

“Rules are rules.” With a flourish, Timmy produced Armie’s loafers, the ones he’d left on the beach the other night. “For you.”

“My shoes.” Armie stared at them, and then at Timmy, who was still grinning at him. He couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face. “That’s my gift?”

“Yup,” Timmy said, his lips popping on the _p_. “You left so fast the other night, I didn’t have a chance to give them to you. Didn’t want you to feel like I was holding them hostage forever, like some freak shoe hoarder.”

Armie took the shoes, and shook his head. “I guess I forgot about them,” he said. “Thanks for bringing them over. Especially in the rain.”

“No problem,” Timmy said. “Gave me an excuse to leave the house. It’s boring today, everyone keeps sleeping.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Do you...do you want to come in?” The question sent Armie’s pulse racing. _Stupid,_ that was _stupid,_ he reminded himself. Timmy had a girlfriend, no need to get so—

“Nah,” Timmy said, and Armie’s heart sank. But then Timmy gestured behind him. “I want you to come out with me instead.”

“Out there? On the patio?” Armie looked around. Unlike the patio at Timmy’s house, Armie’s back patio was covered. However, the wind still blew the rain in sideways from time to time, so it wasn’t exactly dry. 

“No, down to the beach,” Timmy said. “Come for a walk.”

Armie laughed. Timmy was joking, surely. “It’s raining,” he said. 

“Good observation, Harvard,” Timmy said. “What’s your point? You never walked in the rain?”

“Sure I have. Just not...on purpose,” Armie said. 

“Then you don’t know what you’re missing. Come on, put some shoes on, grab a sweater or something. Let’s go.” Timmy cocked his head to the side. “Okay?”

Armie licked his lips. Maybe Timmy wanted to be friends. A warmth bloomed in Armie’s chest, and he smiled. He could do that. Even if it wasn’t what he had thought...they could be friends. 

“Okay,” he said. 

A few minutes later he was pulling up his own hood, locking the door behind him, and following Timmy back across the soggy lawn to the beach stairs. They clattered down them side by side and then their feet slapped on the wet sand. 

Timmy turned west, and Armie fell into step beside him. The rain fell steadily, and even though it wasn’t raining hard, it soaked his hood and shoulders in minutes so that the fabric clung to his skin. Every few minutes, the wind whipped around them, tossing the rain into his face. The sand was mushy and slippery beneath his feet.

Still, despite all of this...he grinned. It felt good to be outside, and the rain felt like it was washing away the mood he’d been living in for the past day and half. Or maybe it was the guy beside him that was doing that. 

He smiled at the way Timmy was winding through the sand in no discernible pattern. Armie glanced over his shoulder and marveled at the difference in the tracks they left; his formed a clear straight line, while Timmy’s wove back and forth and looped around crazily. 

They’d made it past two houses before Timmy spoke up. 

“So why _did_ you leave?” he asked. “On Friday? You weren’t having fun?”

He looked over at Armie, his green eyes wide and, to Armie’s surprise, concerned. 

“I was having fun,” Armie said. “That was...you were...it was fun.”

“Okay. Then...what happened?”

“I was tired,” Armie said feebly. 

Timmy frowned. “Are you sure? Because you seemed like...you were mad.” He shrugged. “I kind of wondered if I’d said something wrong, and if you’d slam the door in my face when I showed up today. If I did, I didn’t mean to. I say a lot of shit and most of it is just...nothing.”

“You didn’t — I wasn’t mad,” Armie said. “I just...your girlfriend came out, and I didn’t want to be in the way.”

“My what?” Timmy stopped walking, and when Armie turned around, his mouth was a round _O._

“Your girlfriend. Flo?” Armie shrugged. 

Timmy burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he doubled over, his arms clutched around his narrow waist, his dripping curls bouncing around his jerking head. Armie just stared at him. 

After a minute, he took a breath and straightened up, then shook his head. 

_“Armie,”_ he said, looking utterly delighted. “ _That’s_ why you left? Flo isn’t...she’s not…”

Then he was laughing again. Armie fidgeted, shuffling his feet in the sand and feeling cold. Was Timmy saying that Flo wasn’t his girlfriend?

Suddenly, Timmy sprang forward and smacked a hand against Armie’s chest. 

“You’re like...too good to be true,” he said, blinking up at Armie. “I’m gonna have to pay my agent a bonus for picking the house next to yours.”

He twisted his fingers in Armie’s sleeve and began walking again. Armie followed along, letting himself be led further across the sand. 

“So Flo isn’t…” Armie began. 

“No, she isn’t,” Timmy said. “God, imagine. She’s just a friend.”

“You were kissing her a _lot,”_ Armie pointed out. 

“She was kissing _me_ a lot,” Timmy said. “Right before we came out here, Flo lost an audition because the casting director said she wasn’t a convincing kisser. She took that hard and has been using me to practice.” He snickered. “Me and everyone else. You’re lucky she didn’t lay one on you. Give her another day, she might.”

“And you just let her?” Armie tried to wrap his mind around the idea of just kissing someone, at any time you wanted. 

“Why not? Kissing is fun,” Timmy said. He shot a sideways glance at Armie. “Don’t you think?”

“Sure, yeah,” Armie said. 

“So you really just left because you thought I was making out with a girlfriend?” Timmy asked. 

“I guess,” Armie said. “I figured you’d moved on from hanging out with me and didn’t want to overstay.”

“You couldn’t,” Timmy swung his arm, and since he was still holding Armie’s sleeve, swung Armie’s arm as well. “You’re welcome whenever and however long you want. Okay?”

“Okay,” Armie said. He looked down at where Timmy was still gripping his sleeve. It was almost like Timmy was holding his hand. Almost. 

If Flo wasn’t Timmy’s girlfriend...maybe Armie _hadn’t_ been misreading Timmy’s flirting. His heart rate sped up. If only he had the guts to grab Timmy’s hand for real. If only he wasn’t always worried about who might be looking out their window and see. 

On impulse, he swiveled his wrist and pinched the edge of Timmy’s sleeve between his fingers. Timmy stopped swinging his arm. Slowly, he slid his pinky down to stroke against Armie’s wrist. Armie swallowed. 

Then Timmy let go and bounded in the opposite direction, headed east. 

“Let’s go back,” he said. “It’s wet.”

“Well...it’s raining,” laughed Armie. 

Timmy turned and began to run, and after a second, Armie gave chase. They sprinted across the sand, leaving a spray of it behind them, and reached Armie’s stairs gasping for breath. 

“Am I…” Timmy gulped in air. “Am I coming up, or going back next door?” 

“Come up,” Armie said. “No one’s home. My parents went to Hartford for the day. We won’t be...it’ll just be us.”

He led the way up to the house and unlocked the door, ushering them both inside, where they stood, dripping on the wooden floor. 

“Maybe this was a dumb idea,” Timmy said. “The walking in the rain. I have a lot of dumb ideas.”

“No, it was...I liked it,” Armie said. He peered at Timmy in the dim entry. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine,” Timmy said, clearly shivering. 

“You’re not. We should put on dry clothes.”

Timmy glanced at the door. “I guess I could run home and change?”

Armie didn’t want Timmy to leave. Even with a promise to come back. He felt like there was some kind of charge in the air, and if Timmy left, it might fizzle out.

“I can give you something. Wait here.”

He kicked off his waterlogged shoes and took off for his room, taking the back stairs two at a time. Once there, he quickly stripped off his soaked jeans, sweater, and tee, and replaced them with dry sweats. He grabbed a second set of sweats, snagged a couple of towels from the bathroom, and then ran back down. 

Timmy was waiting for him, alternating between hugging himself and holding his arms out to his sides. Armie handed him the clothes and one of the towels. 

“They’ll be big, but...the bathroom is just down there.”

“Thanks,” Timmy said, flashing Armie a grin. He kicked off his own shoes and then gingerly made his way down the hall. 

Armie quickly used the other towel to mop up the floor, then tossed it into the corner. He went into the kitchen and set up the tea kettle, pulling out mugs and teabags and spoons and honey. By the time he heard Timmy calling his name, the kettle was beginning to rattle. 

“In here,” Armie called. Timmy rounded the corner a moment later, and Armie smiled. 

He was swimming in the sweats. The neck hung low, and he was holding up the pants with his left hand. 

Armie stared. He stared at the way the right shoulder sagged and the sleeves were bunched up and the legs were rolled at Timmy’s ankles. He stared at Timmy’s glistening curls that hung around his face. He stared at the way the guy’s thin frame was still somehow visible under all that fabric. 

Timmy laughed self-consciously. “I look ridiculous.”

“No,” Armie said. He cleared his throat. “No, you…”

The kettle began to whistle, a piercing shriek that made them both jump. Armie fumbled with the knobs on the stove until it stopped. He grabbed a pot holder and busied himself pouring the water over the teabags. 

“Do you like honey, or...I think there’s lemon.” He glanced over his shoulder. 

“Honey is good,” Timmy said. “Thanks.”

Armie finished preparing the tea, and when he turned around again, Timmy was right behind him. 

“Here.” Armie handed Timmy his mug. “Let’s go into the den.”

Timmy followed him through the house, and they settled on the sofa in the den. Armie grabbed a couple of crocheted blankets and they threw them over their laps and sat clutching their steaming mugs, letting the warmth finally creep in. 

“I feel like my grandmother,” Armie said. 

Timmy giggled. “Is your grandmother six and a half feet of muscle?”

“No.” Armie laughed. “She is tall, though. I think the word is ‘patrician.’”

“Does she live here?” Timmy asked. 

“Newton,” Armie said. “Just outside of Boston. My mother keeps trying to get her to move down here but she says she prefers civilized land.”

“And this is...not?” 

“Golf clubs and beach shanties do not civilization make,” Armie said, mimicking his grandmother’s reedy tone. “I actually think she likes her card games and doesn’t want to leave them.”

Timmy snickered. “What about your grandfather? What does he think?” 

“He passed a few years ago,” Armie said. “Which his why my mother would like her to move. But I check in on her every so often, and...she seems fine to me.”

“It’s nice that you see your grandmother,” Timmy said. “I miss mine. I grew up with her living a few floors up in our apartment building.”

“When did you lose her?” Armie asked. 

“Oh, I didn’t. She’s still there, in the same apartment. But since I moved to L.A…” he shrugged. 

“What are your parents like?”

They talked through the rest of the afternoon, the rumbling thunder a soundtrack to the meandering conversation. Armie asked Timmy about Hollywood, and with a scrunch of his nose that made Armie’s belly tingle, Timmy talked about studios and contracts and directors and scripts. 

“Is it hard to pretend to be different people all the time?” Armie asked. 

“Not hard. I mean, it’s a lot of _work_. But it’s fun, and kind of freeing?” Timmy replied. “I mean, have you ever wished you could just leave your whole life behind and be someone else for a while?”

 _Definitely_ , Armie thought. 

Timmy asked about college, and what Armie planned to do after he graduated. 

“Work for the company,” Armie said automatically. 

“What company?”

“My...my family’s company,” Armie said. “Hammer Industries.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll…” Armie hesitated, and then laughed. “You know, I’m not even sure. I never thought to ask. I guess I’ll find out when I get there.”

Timmy looked baffled by this, and Armie couldn’t blame him. 

When Timmy’s stomach let out a loud growl, Armie half expected him to say it was time to go. Instead, he said, “Got anything to eat around here?”

Armie heated up one of Flora’s specialty casseroles for dinner, and they talked through bites of lamb and peas and potatoes, sipping on beer.

“Will your parents notice the beer is gone?” Timmy asked, when Armie offered him one. 

“Doubtful. Even if they do, they won’t care,” Armie said. “Or, if you want something stronger, they won’t care about the liquor cabinet either.” 

“Beer is good,” Timmy said. He plucked the can out of Armie’s hand and winked. 

After dinner was cleaned up, they wandered back into the den. This time, when they sat, Armie noticed that Timmy flopped onto the cushion directly next to his, significantly closing the gap that had been between them throughout the afternoon. Armie snapped on the television and they watched some mindless show for a while. 

At one point, Armie turned to Timmy to make a comment and saw that his eyes were closed, his lips were parted, and he was snoring gently. Armie smiled, pulled a blanket up over him, and turned back to the television. 

Eventually, Armie fell asleep too. When he opened his eyes, the television was off, the sky outside was dark, and the lamp in the corner had been turned on. He turned and saw Timmy, sitting cross-legged in the sofa, watching him, his eyes bottle-green in the glow of the lamp.

“Hey,” Timmy said, softly. 

“Hey,” Armie replied. 

“We fell asleep.”

“Yeah.”

They watched each other quietly for a minute. 

“Today was fun,” Timmy said. “I’m glad you weren't mad at me.”

“I’m glad you came over. I like those shoes.” Armie smirked. 

Timmy reached out and smacked Armie’s shoulder lightly. 

“ _Just_ the shoes?” he asked. 

Armie’s pulse picked up. He took a shallow breath. 

“No,” he said. “Not _just_ the shoes.”

Timmy smiled. “Good. Armie—“

The sound of a car engine rumbled outside, and Armie sat up straight, letting the blanket fall to the floor. 

“Fuck,” he said. “My parents.” He glanced back at Timmy, eyes wide. 

Timmy stiffened. “Should I not be here?”

“Probably not. I’m sorry, it’s not...it’s only because—“

“It’s okay.” Timmy got to his feet. “I get it.”

The engine turned off, and Armie felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn’t that his parents would suspect anything was going on, not really. But they’d no doubt disapprove of Armie hanging out with Timmy at all. They might even forbid him from doing it again, and he'd rather avoid that complication. 

He kind of wanted to keep Timmy to himself, anyway. For now. 

“Come on,” he said. “They’re coming in the front, you can go out the back.”

Armie snapped off the light in the den, and they hurried down the hall. 

“My clothes,” Timmy said, stuffing his feet into his sandals. “They’re in the—“

“Got it,” Armie replied. He dashed back to the bathroom and grabbed the still-wet things, then returned to the back door just as Timmy was pulling it open. 

“Thanks for dinner,” Timmy whispered. 

“Thanks for the walk,” Armie whispered back. 

Armie could hear the front door opening, and he pushed Timmy outside. 

“I’ll see you—“ Armie began. 

Suddenly, Timmy tossed his things onto the patio. He leapt forward, and then his lips were on Armie’s in a firm kiss. He lingered there a long moment, his hands on Armie’s cheeks, before he jumped back and grabbed up his clothes again. 

“Come by tomorrow, if you don’t hate me,” he whispered, and then ran off into the night. 

Armie stumbled back across the threshold. He was dimly aware that his parents were moving around at the front of the house, and this alone spurred him to gently close the back door and then escape up the servants stairs to his room. 

When he crawled into bed a few minutes later, he found himself wide awake, his heart pounding in his chest and adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

He closed his eyes, but knew he was never going to be able to sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took Armie until after dinner on Monday to take Timmy up on his whispered offer of the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% fiction, of course. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It took Armie until after dinner on Monday to take Timmy up on his whispered offer of the night before. 

First, his mother had headed him off after breakfast and saddled him with a handful of errands. He’d been about to head out to the beach — the sunny weather having blessedly returned — in the hopes of running into Timmy with his crew, but instead he found himself visiting various businesses downtown. He picked up altered clothing, delivered invitations, stopped for flowers...nothing he really minded, except that it was keeping him from doing the one thing that he really wanted to be doing. 

Then, while he was grabbing a sandwich at Lou’s, he ran into the Wallace twins. They’d arrived in town over the weekend, and were anxious to get back into the swing of the Westerly summer life. After some attempts at finding a way to decline, Armie had given up and agreed to join them at the club for an afternoon round of golf. He liked Sally and Richie Wallace, at least, and had been looking forward to spending time with them. If his mind hadn’t been so focused on what had happened the night before, he’d have been more enthusiastic, but he definitely didn’t want to burn his bridges. 

He’d decided to have dinner with his parents, so that he could mention he’d spent the afternoon with the Wallaces. It had the expected reaction: Dru decided to call Felicia Wallace to invite them over for dinner later in the week and Michael mused that Richard Senior might be interested in some cigars he’d gotten his hands on. 

Over dessert, Armie mentioned he might be going out. As expected, his parents assumed he was seeing the Wallaces again, which was going to come in handy. Michael told him not to stay out too late and Dru told him to be quiet when coming in, and he was finally free to go see Timmy. 

This time, as he approached the back patio with a six pack of beer in his hands, laughter mixed with the music echoing across the lawn. The back patio was more lively than it had been on Friday — when he’d stumbled upon just Penny and Grant — and Armie hesitated. He hadn’t expected there to be a party in full swing on a Monday night. Had more people arrived from Los Angeles?

He thought about turning around and going home, but the thought of not seeing Timmy left him feeling empty and hollow, so he continued up the stone steps. A few people greeted him with a _hey_ as he passed. In the dark, he couldn’t quite make out faces, so he just smiled and nodded. 

The back door opened easily, and he entered the house, not entirely sure where to go. Then one of the girls from Friday night — J.C., the pretty brunette who had offered to make out with him — wandered past. She stopped and grinned. 

“Oh, hey,” she said. “Armie, right?”

“Hi,” he said. “That’s right.”

“Far out. Timmy will be happy to see you.” 

She wandered away, leaving him to his own devices, but he felt marginally better, and a little less nervous. Did that mean Timmy had been talking about him?

He turned toward the kitchen, deciding to take the route Penny had led him last time. The kitchen was also livelier than it had been the other night, and he navigated around bodies to get to the fridge. He deposited the beer and then continued towards the living room and rec room. 

The living room looked different. Furniture had been shoved to the side or removed and the rug rolled back, to create a large space in the center of the room. People were dancing, spinning and grooving to the fast beat pounding out of the massive speakers. 

In the middle of it all was Timmy. 

Armie watched, captivated, as Timmy wiggled and writhed, his feet moving in a complicated pattern on the wooden floor. He was dancing with Flo, and he clutched her hand, spinning her around and pulling her close for a moment before bouncing away again. 

A pang of longing reverberated in Armie’s chest. He wished he could do _that_. Instead, he was standing off to the side, feeling suddenly too large and too awkward to be here. 

The song ended, and another began, a slower song. He recognized this one, an Elvis number that had hit the charts last year. Something about falling in love. Flo sidled up to Timmy and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he looped his around her waist. 

Now the pang in his chest was an ache, and it tightened around his lungs. No matter what Timmy had said about not being in a relationship with Flo, they looked awfully cozy. 

Armie looked away from Timmy. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He had no claim to the guy, certainly not after one simple, stolen, two-second kiss. 

He was thinking about going home, or at the very least going to a different room and finding some way to distract himself from the sight of Timmy dancing with Flo, when he realized something. 

He _recognized_ these other people. Some of them, anyhow. They lived in town. A wave of cold washed over him. These were townies, and they’d recognize him, too. 

That meant he shouldn’t be here. Or, if he stayed, he shouldn’t flirt with Timmy or make it look like they knew each other in any way other than very casually. It would be too easy for word to get back to his parents. 

He glanced back over towards Timmy just as Timmy looked up, and their eyes met. The expression of surprise followed by pure joy that crossed Timmy’s face punched Armie in the gut, and he was grinning back before he could catch himself, all of his doubts dissolving in an instant. 

Timmy pulled away from Flo and said something to her. Then she headed into the rec room and he was weaving through the dancers towards Armie. Armie stiffened at his approach. What was he going to do? How should Armie respond?

He didn’t make a decision fast enough, and Timmy slid up to him, running an affectionate hand down his arm and squeezing his fingers. 

“Hi,” Timmy said. “You’re here.”

Armie pulled his hand away and took a tiny step backward. The flash of confusion on Timmy’s face had him regretting it instantly, but he just nodded. 

“Yeah. I was...I didn’t realize there’d be so many people here.” He gestured at the crowd. “On a Monday.”

Timmy looked around and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, the guys wandered into town yesterday while I was with you and met some people and one thing led to another, I think. It grew a little more than we knew it would, but the more the merrier, right?”

“Sure.” Armie cleared his throat. “I also kind of know some of these people. And they know me, and my parents. Maybe I should...” He looked over his shoulder. 

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Understanding passed through Timmy’s eyes, and he nodded, relaxing once more. “Don’t worry, we’re solid. Wait here a minute.”

He disappeared through the door to the rec room. Armie stood awkwardly against the wall, waiting and wishing he had a drink to at least make him look like he had something to do. 

Eventually, Timmy reappeared, this time with Flo and J.C. in tow. To Armie’s shock, J.C. went straight for him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. 

“I’m your distraction for the evening,” she said in his ear. “Lucky me.”

“You’re...what?” Armie asked. 

“I’m your girl,” J.C. murmured. “You can’t keep your hands off me.”

With that, she grabbed his hands, planted them on her ass, and laid her head against his chest. 

Armie stiffened and shot a glance at Timmy, who was holding onto Flo in a similar manner and smirking.

“Problem solved,” he said. 

“Relax,” J.C. said. “I do this all the time. I’m a pro.”

Then she kissed him, and it all clicked into place. Timmy had gotten them a buffer, so they could hang out and no one would suspect what was really going on. Or what _might_ go on, if they got the chance. He could do this. He’d done it before. 

Armie did his best to respond to the kiss, relying on all of his acting skills to pull it off. He was used to it, had been kissing girls and pretending to enjoy it since high school. Idly, he wondered about Timmy’s comment the day before — _kissing is fun_ — and whether he was missing out by viewing this as an obligation rather than an opportunity, but it still felt like going through the motions rather than anything else. 

When J.C. broke the kiss, he smoothed her hair back and smiled down at her. “Thanks,” he said. 

“Not too shabby a deal for me,” she said with a smirk. “You’re not a bad kisser.”

They went back to the rec room to play darts. It was fun at first, but eventually Armie began to get antsy. J.C. was playing her part well, but it wasn’t her Armie wanted to be wrapped around. He watched Timmy, playing with Flo’s hair and chatting with other guests, and felt like a complete heel for wishing it were yesterday, so he could have Timmy’s attention solely on him again. 

Eventually, they migrated outside to the back patio, grabbing drinks on the way. They found a sofa to settle on, Armie and Timmy on the outside and the girls in the middle. J.C. nestled under Armie’s arm, her hair tickling his cheek and her hand on his knee. They lit cigarettes and let the smoke swirl in a haze around them, creating an illusion of privacy. 

Despite Armie’s initial reservations, conversation came easily to the foursome. Armie found that both girls had a dry and acerbic sense of humor that was more than amusing, and he enjoyed listening to their commentary on the little beach town and its inhabitants. When he steered the topic to Hollywood, they had just as much to say. 

Armie listened, exchanging amused looks with Timmy. Occasionally, Timmy would let the tips of his fingers brush lightly against Armie’s, and a frisson would wash over Armie, his skin tingling. 

As the night matured, things began to quiet down. Eventually, during a lull in the conversation, Timmy smiled at Armie and then whispered something in Flo’s ear. Flo stood and pulled Timmy with her. He followed her into the house. Armie sat up, wondering if he should follow. 

“Give them a few minutes,” J.C. said, pushing Armie back onto the sofa. 

“For what?” Armie asked. 

She didn’t answer. Instead, she finished her cigarette and smashed it out in an ashtray on the coffee table. Then she turned, swung a long leg over him, and straddled him, grinning. When she kissed him, it was with enthusiasm, threading her hands through his hair and pressing against him. He did his best to respond, but when she pulled away, she sighed. 

“This really does nothing for you?” she asked, pouting slightly.

He glanced around wildly to see who might have heard her, but they were alone. 

“Relax, there’s no one here,” she said. 

“Then...why the show?” he asked. 

“Curiosity,” she said. Then she shrugged. “Anyway, Armie, you’re a good kisser, and a nice guy. Anytime you want me to play your girl just let me know. I won’t even charge you.”

_“Charge_ me?”

She laughed. “I wasn’t kidding before when I said I was a pro, I do it for guys back home all the time.”

Armie’s mind was spinning as she climbed off of him. She grabbed his hands and tugged him to his feet. 

“Come on, gorgeous, show’s not over yet.” She winked and then led him back into the house. He followed, feeling a little dazed. When she started up the staircase to the second floor, he hesitated. 

“Maybe I should go home,” he said. 

“Trust me, that’s not what you want.” She giggled, then leaned down and whispered, “Act like you can’t wait to get me upstairs.”

She turned and guided his hands to her hips. He followed her lead, and they wound their way up to the darkened second floor. She pulled him down the hall quickly, all the way to the eastern end and a closed door there. Before he knew what was happening, she had opened the door and shoved him through, closing it behind him with a giggle. 

He stumbled into a set of narrow stairs in the dark. As he reached out and patted the walls around him and the ceiling that was just above his head, he realized where he was: this was the access to the house’s widow’s walk. 

Carefully, ducking his head way down to avoid banging it on the low ceiling, he made his way up to the turn, and then through the open hatch at the top. Sitting in the center of the widow’s walk, his back against the chimney encasement, his knees pulled up to his chest, and the bottle of scotch Armie had brought the other night in his hand, was Timmy. 

The moonlight illuminated his curls and his pale skin, giving them a blueish tinge. When he turned his head, it shone in his eyes as well. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. 

“Hi,” said Armie. He climbed the rest of the way to the roof and crossed to the center. 

“Have a seat,” Timmy said. 

Armie sank onto the gritty floor beside Timmy and leaned up against the chimney. Timmy passed him the bottle of scotch, and he took a drink, letting the liquor warm a pathway into his chest before handing it back. 

“I have good taste,” he said, gesturing at the scotch. 

Timmy smiled. “I think so.”

“I’m surprised it’s not empty,” Armie said. “With so many people—“

“I took it and hid it in my room,” Timmy said. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

They looked out at the water. Someone had turned off the music in the house below, and now they could hear the waves breaking against the beach. It was one of Armie’s favorite sounds, one he missed when he was away at school. 

He realized he must have said something out loud when Timmy spoke. 

“Me too,” Timmy said, “Sometimes I think about buying a place on the ocean. In California.”

“Why don’t you?” Armie asked. 

“Can’t afford it yet. But even when I can...I don’t know. Buying property feels so permanent.”

“It can be,” Armie said. “But it doesn’t have to be. Look around. Most of the houses on this beach belong to people who don’t live here year round.”

“Seems like a waste, though,” Timmy said. “I mean...to have a place like this and not _live_ in it.”

I...agree,” Armie said. 

Timmy passed the scotch again. They sat in silence, watching the moon glisten on the water. 

“Things go okay with J.C.?” Timmy asked, after a while. 

“Sure,” Armie said. He wasn’t sure exactly what Timmy was asking. “She was...friendly.”

Timmy laughed, but his tone was serious. “She _is_ a good friend. And a fox. Don’t you think?”

Armie shrugged. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Which you’re...not.” Timmy turned to face Armie, giving him a searching look. 

Armie took another swallow of the scotch, and then set the bottle to the side. He returned Timmy’s look steadily. “I think you know I’m not.”

A faint smile ghosted across Timmy’s face, and he shifted closer. An inch, maybe two. He slid his hand across the roof until it rested on Armie’s, soft fingertips brushing lightly across Armie’s knuckles. Armie’s breath caught, as a shiver ran through him. 

“I didn’t think I was going to see you today,” Timmy said. 

“I wanted to come by earlier,” Armie said earnestly. “My mother — there were errands — and then some other things came up.”

“I thought maybe I’d scared you away.” When Timmy looked up, his eyes didn’t make it any farther than Armie’s lips. 

“No,” Armie said. “You didn’t. Scare me. Not at all.”

“Well, okay then.”

Timmy closed his fingers firmly around Armie’s and moved in quickly. Their mouths locked without effort, as though they’d done this a thousand times and not just the one half attempt in the dark. 

_Yes,_ Armie thought. Timmy’s lips were soft against his, more gentle and accommodating than he would have anticipated based on Timmy’s assertive and confident presence. The kiss was slow and tentative, as though Timmy was seeking permission for more.

Armie granted it, lifting his hand to slide up into Timmy’s hair, threading his fingers into the soft curls so that he could control the angle of the kiss. He tilted his head to the left and parted his lips.

With a soft moan, Timmy accepted the invitation, sliding his tongue against Armie’s. That was all that was needed for the tone and tempo of the kiss to shift. Timmy scrambled up onto his knees and then climbed on top of Armie, suddenly demanding.

Armie grabbed at Timmy’s hips, positioning him comfortably in place, and focused on Timmy’s mouth.

They kissed for a long time, alternating between forceful intensity and soft exploration. Armie reveled in the feeling of Timmy atop him, in the way he took control and Armie could just ride the wave of sensation and desire. He felt safe in Timmy’s hands, content to let the guy take what he wanted without fear that it would be too much or too little.

The ease of it stunned him.

Eventually, Timmy pulled away. He gazed down at Armie with a smile.

“Wow,” he said.

Armie smiled back. “Yeah.”

Timmy traced his fingers along Armie’s jaw. “From the first second I saw you in the moonlight, I was dying to know if you were into this.”

“When did you know I was?” Armie asked. He thought he’d made it obvious that first time he’d come over, but maybe not.

“When you got upset that I was kissing Flo,” Timmy said. “At least, I was pretty sure then. I thought it was possible before that, but then…” He shrugged.

“I have to be careful,” Armie said. “This kind of thing, it’s not...my family would disown me. I’d ruin my whole future, if anyone found out.”

“Believe me, I know,” Timmy said. “I guess it’s a little different for me. In Hollywood people kind of _know_ about people, but everyone keeps quiet. I can’t be officially public about it, but there are spaces where it’s okay.”

“It just can’t get back to my parents,” Armie said. “Or basically anyone I know here.”

“Armie, I’m not going to tell anyone,” Timmy said. “I’m not that big of an asshole.”

“I know. I guess I just needed to say it.” Armie smoothed a hand down Timmy’s back. “So...what now?”

“Now…” Timmy glanced over at the open hatch that led into the house. “Now we go back downstairs and pretend we both got it on with the girls.”

“Already?” Armie asked. He leaned forward and placed a small kiss on Timmy’s jaw. 

Timmy chuckled. “Yes, unfortunately. We should go before the girls get bored and go back to the party. They’ll help us, but they’re not saints.”

He got to his feet, and held out a hand. Armie took it and let Timmy pull him up. Then he grabbed the bottle of scotch and followed Timmy to the stairs.

They crept back through the door to the second floor and closed it tightly behind them. Timmy’s room was all the way down at the western end of the house, and he knocked softly before opening the door.

Flo and J.C. were sitting in the center of Timmy’s bed, giggling, a cloud of smoke over their heads. Armie looked around, at the piles of clothes draped over the chair in the corner, the empty beer cans on the desk, the stacks of paper on the nightstand. He suddenly felt like drinking in as many details about Timmy as he could, just in case this was a dream, or a fluke, and he’d wake up in the morning and find that it had slipped through his fingers like a handful of dry sand. 

“Hey, boys,” Flo said. “Did you have fun?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Timmy said. “Thanks for the help tonight.”

“Sure,” she said. “No sweat.” She passed the joint to Timmy, who took a hit and held it out to Armie. 

Armie shook his head. “I better not,” he said. “I should probably get home. My parents think I’m at the house of family friends, and I’m pushing the limits of how late I’d reasonably stay there.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Timmy said, nodding. He handed the joint to J.C. “You better not burn a hole in my bed,” he warned, before cupping a hand on Armie’s elbow and steering him out of the room. 

Downstairs, the party had apparently reached a horizontal phase. The music had come back on, but it was turned on low to match the dimmed lights. The harmonies of the Beach Boys drifted over the bodies that were draped across the furniture. Armie raised his eyes at the couples that had formed, glancing at Timmy in amusement. 

Timmy looked like he was trying not to laugh, and pushed Armie past the living room to the back of the house. They stumbled out the back door and onto the lawn before exploding into giggles. 

“Must be something in the beer,” Timmy said. 

“It’s the music. It hypnotizes people,” Armie countered. 

“That must be it.” Timmy led the way across the lawn and down the beach stairs. When they reached the bottom, he smiled up at Armie. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” Armie couldn’t help reaching out and tugging at one of Timmy’s curls. “When can I — when will I see you again?”

“Whenever you want,” Timmy said. “Tomorrow. Come out to the beach.”

“Okay,” Armie said. “But when...” He caught himself, then shook his head and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heat at the assumptions he maybe shouldn’t make. “Never mind.”

“Oh.” Timmy laughed. “You want to know if I’m gonna kiss you again.”

Armie chewed on his lower lip, then nodded. “Yeah.”

Timmy stepped close, pushing Armie up against the cliff wall in the shadows of the staircase, and latched firmly onto his mouth. His hands swept up Armie’s chest to his shoulders and then back down to his hips, and Armie sighed at the touch, opening up instantly. He gripped Timmy’s hips, and then slid his hands around to Timmy’s ass, and Timmy easily molded himself against Armie with a low growl of approval. 

When Timmy pulled away at last, he swiped a thumb across Armie’s lips. “That soon enough for you?”

Armie groaned and let his head fall forward so his forehead rested against Timmy’s. “Yes.”

“I plan to do that as often as possible,” Timmy said. “That’s your fair warning.”

“I can be all right with that,” Armie said. “Okay. I should go.”

Timmy took a step backwards, letting Armie free. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Armie confirmed. “I’ll come out to the beach.”

Timmy grinned and began to back towards the staircase. “Night, Armie.”

“Goodnight,” Armie said. 

Timmy turned and dashed up the stairs, and Armie watched him disappear over the top before he made his way back to his own house. 

He grinned all the way up the back lawn, as he opened the back door, as he quietly got ready for bed in the silent house. 

_Tomorrow._ Armie could hardly wait. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie made a terrible mistake the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% fiction, of course. 
> 
> ❤️ Thank you to everyone who ours commenting and coming to my inbox and squealing at me in private...I like these boys, too, and there’s a lot of story left.

Armie made a terrible mistake the next morning.

During breakfast, his father was talking about something going on at the office, and, thinking about the conversation he had had with Timmy about exactly what he’d be doing at Hammer Industries one day...he asked.

Michael was thrilled, of course.

“I’m glad you’re showing interest and initiative,” he said, slapping his hand on his knee. “I think this summer is a great time to bring you in, let you get your feet wet, as it were.”

Armie stammered out a feeble protest. “Oh. I didn’t mean that I wanted to — I was just curious about how it might work, or what — I wasn’t sure where I would start. I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Nonsense,” Michael said. “You won’t be in the way. It’s a good time to start learning the ropes. Next year will be here before you know it.”

Armie swallowed back bile. He was well aware how quickly time was ticking by.

Before Armie knew what was happening, he was being instructed to put on a suit and get back downstairs to go in to the office with Michael.

On his way out, he dashed over to Flora, who was alone in the kitchen, cleaning up breakfast.

“Can you get a message to...your friend next door?” he asked in a low voice.

“To _my_ friend? Of course,” she said. “What shall I tell _my_ friend?”

“Say that something came up, and that I’ll be available later today.”

She nodded, and he wrapped an arm around her in a brief hug.

“Thanks, Flora. I owe you.”

With one last longing look towards the back door, he hurried out the front and to his waiting father.

The office was exactly as he remembered it: stuffy, boring, and full of old men. There were some younger ones, of course, but they were so annoyingly obsequious that Armie tried to pretend they didn’t exist.

Michael brought him around to re-introduce him to the important players. He did his best to give firm handshakes, make safe compliments, act like he knew something about anything. He was given a desk in an empty office and a stack of financial documents to read to “get up to speed on current projects.” With a muffled sigh, he started plowing through them.

Two hours later, he knew more than he needed to know about the cash flow problems of a handful of factories in the Midwest, was no clearer on what he’d be expected to _do_ when he started working there than before, and he was even more sure it would bore him to tears.

A secretary popped her head into the office shortly before lunch, her bobbed blonde hair curling up at the ends with a bounce that matched her step. 

“Mr. Hammer?” she said. 

It took Armie a second to realize she was talking to him.

“Yes?” he asked. 

“The other Mr. Hammer would like to see you in his office. I can take you.” 

She waited for him to button up his jacket, and then led him up to a large corner office on the sixth floor. His father was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, and he was on the phone. 

“We’ll need those figures by Friday,” he was saying. He looked up and waved Armie in, pointing to one of the wingback chairs facing the desk. Armie sat and waited for his father to finish the call. 

When he did, he turned to Armie. “How did the morning go?”

Armie shrugged. “Fine.”

His father was watching him carefully. “What did you think? Any opinions on what you read?”

“The companies seem...to be in trouble.”

“True,” Michael said. “The question is, any chance they can be profitable? Just your gut instinct, if you have one. Obviously, determining that for sure takes a lot more—“

“All of them except Ohio,” Armie said. 

Michael blinked at him, and then frowned. “The one in Ohio has the most solid footing,” he said. “Its debt is secured and it —“ He stopped and shook his head, looking disappointed. “It takes time to really understand these things.”

“The Ohio plant is going to be affected by pending federal environmental legislation,” Armie said. “It won’t happen immediately, but it’s likely to end up costing the company a fortune eventually.”

“That’ll never pass,” Michael said, waving it away.

“Fred Donohue’s father seems to think it will,” Armie said. “I had dinner with him just before school ended and he was talking about it. It’s got Republican support.”

“Congressman Donohue told you that?” Michael looked thoughtful. “All right. I’ll put some associates on it. Thank you, that’s a potentially valuable contribution.”

Armie fidgeted in his chair, unused to the praise from his father, as mild as it was. He decided to take advantage of it. 

“Would it be possible for me to head out?” he asked. “I sort of had plans today.”

Michael laughed. “All right, I’ll let you get back to your friends. Have one last summer of freedom.” He was relieved until Michael added, “You can come in a couple of mornings a week to begin to get up to speed.”

He buzzed his secretary to call a car to bring Armie back home, and Armie gratefully retreated from the place he least wanted to be. 

An hour later, having changed out of his suit and into swim trunks and a tee-shirt, he threw a towel over his shoulder and bounded down the stairs towards the back door and the beach beyond. 

His stomach churned with excitement. He’d done his best to put last night out of his mind all morning, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to stand it. But on the ride back to the house, he’d gone over and over it, reliving the moments again and again until he was vibrating with anticipation. 

The memory of the look on Timmy’s face right before they’d kissed, awash in moonlight and oddly determined, had haunted him all night long. He wanted to see that look again. Wanted Timmy to take control like he’d done on the widow’s walk, or when he’d pushed Armie up against the cliff wall. 

Shivering at the idea, he reached for the doorknob. 

Flora called out to stop him, coming through the doorway to the kitchen with a large basket in her arms. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

“Can’t let you go over to that boy’s place empty-handed,” she said. “What would he think of your manners?”

She pushed the basket into his hands, and he lifted the lid to peek inside. 

“Lunch?” He grinned. That’s right, it was lunchtime. He’d completely forgotten about eating in his rush to get back to Timmy. 

“Go,” she said. “He seemed anxious to see you when I called over this morning.” She patted his hand. “Don’t keep him waiting any longer.”

“Thanks,” Armie said. “Hey, if my mother asks—“

“She’s out shopping. She went to Mystic for the day, won’t be home until after dinner. Your father is going to the club after work. Maybe you have dinner plans too?” She winked. 

“Maybe,” Armie said, his spirits lifting further. 

If his parents weren’t around, then Armie didn’t need to be, either. He could stay at Timmy’s all day. Would Timmy even _want_ him around that long? There was only one way to find out. 

He made his way down to the shore, his nerves crackling. The ocean sparkled under the sun, waves crashing onto the sand. Gulls soared overhead, crying out as they looped over the sea. Armie squinted against the brightness and peered east. 

There was a small group on Timmy’s beach, sprawled out on loungers and towels. A transistor radio was pumping out the ever-present music, and laughter floated across the sand. As he approached, Armie scanned the people, comforted that it seemed to be Timmy’s L.A. crew and not any of the locals from the night before. 

Armie made his way through the spread towels, nodding his hellos, until he reached Timmy’s side. The guy was sprawled across a towel in the center of it all, one arm flung over his eyes and the other hand splayed on his stomach. Despite days of hanging out in the sun, his skin remained pale, and Armie resisted the urge to reach out and touch. 

He set the picnic basket down and cleared his throat. Timmy lifted his arm and blinked up blearily. 

“Hi,” Armie said. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Timmy lit up, coming awake immediately and pushing himself up on his elbows. 

“Hi,” Timmy said. “Fucking hell, you’re as tall as a New York skyscraper. Get down here.”

Armie spread his towel out beside Timmy’s and sank onto it, pulling one knee up to his chest and tucking the other leg underneath him. Timmy reached out and placed a single fingertip on Armie’s knee. Armie stared at it, his pulse jumping at the simple touch, and then he raised his gaze to find Timmy watching him with a sly smile. With every passing second, anticipation coiled in Armie’s stomach. 

Timmy skimmed the finger down Armie’s shin, and Armie swallowed. _Fuck._ If Timmy could make him feel like this just by touching his knee…

“It’s about time you got here,” Timmy said. “I was getting impatient.”

“Sorry,” Armie said. “I ended up having to go to my dad’s office this morning. I got away as soon as I—“

“I’m kidding. Seriously, I’m just happy you came,” Timmy said. He squeezed Armie’s knee, and then left his hand there, a warm, sleight pressure that drew Armie’s focus. “When do you turn into a pumpkin?”

“A what?”

“Like Cinderella. If you stay out past midnight—“

“Oh. Right. Like the movie.” Armie laughed, remembering seeing the animated film while he was in high school. “Fan of Cinderella, are you? Was it the fairy godmother or the dressmaking mice that drew you in?”

“I’m a fan of _movies_ ,” Timmy said. “So how long can I have you today, before you run away from me like you keep doing?”

Armie glowed at Timmy’s phrasing — _how long can I have you_ — and wanted to respond with _forever if you want me_. But instead, he just shrugged. He was about to find out how Timmy felt about him staying _all day_.

“My parents are out for the day, past dinner. So they probably won’t be looking for me until tomorrow.”

Timmy beamed. “Excellent.” 

He swiped his thumb across Armie’s knee, then an inch along the inside of his thigh. Armie felt a tightening in his groin, and licked his lips. He blushed and his eyes darted around to see if anyone noticed. 

Timmy pointed at the picnic basket. “What’s that?”

“Lunch,” Armie said. “Flora — our housekeeper — sent it over. Never show up at someone’s house—“

“Empty-handed. Right. I’m beginning to love that rule. And maybe your Flora, too. Is she the one who called me this morning?”

“Yeah, she was doing me a favor. Going in to the office happened sort of suddenly, or else I would have called myself.”

“What did she pack?”

”Let’s see,” said Armie. He pulled the basket over and flipped open the lid. “Sandwiches, fruit salad, potato chips. Enough for everyone.”

Timmy sat up and folded himself into a cross-legged position. “Far out. Lemme at it, I’m starving.”

They dug into the pile of sandwiches, selecting what they wanted, took control of one of the bags of chips and a bowl of fruit, setting the food between them. Then Timmy called for someone to bring him a couple of beers and pointed out the food to the others. The group descended, and the basket was empty in seconds. 

Someone handed Armie a beer, and after a moment’s hesitation, he cracked it open with a satisfying pop and hiss. Timmy reached out and tapped his can against Armie’s.

“Cheers,” he said. “To new friends.” 

They drank, and Armie relished the taste of the crisp liquid. He wasn’t used to drinking during the day, but...there was something heady about it. Freeing. 

He smiled, feeling the sun beat down on his face and listening to the music on the radio, letting all the tension of the morning slide out of him. 

They talked easily through lunch, on subjects ranging from movies to baseball to politics. They argued good-naturedly about the superiority of New York City vs. Boston, and then Armie asked about Los Angeles. 

“Do you not like it?” he asked. “You said you...I think you said you needed to get out, which is why you came here. Why did you need to get out?”

Timmy, who had been lounging on his side, propping his head up with one hand, sat up suddenly.

“That’s a boring story,” he said. “Let’s go swimming, I’m hot.” He jumped to his feet, reaching down to grab Armie’s hand. 

Armie let himself be pulled to his feet. He yanked his tee-shirt over his head and tossed it onto his towel. When he turned back towards Timmy, the guy was staring at him. 

“Holy shit,” he muttered. His gaze flicked up from Armie’s bare stomach to his eyes. “You’re an Adonis.”

Before Armie could react, Timmy grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the ocean. 

After several hours alternating between splashing in the waves and drying in the sun, Timmy’s crowd started migrating towards the house. Timmy agreed that they could use a break from the sun, and Armie helped him gather up their things, stowing the beach chairs in the shed under the stairs. 

“I should go home and change,” Armie said, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Why?” Timmy asked, shoving the shed door closed with his shoulder. 

“Because I’m sandy and coated in salt,” Armie said. “I could use a shower and don’t want to track stuff all over your house.”

“ _I’m_ tracking stuff all over my house,” Timmy said. He peered at Armie, and then, with a glance around at the now-empty beach, he leaned in conspiratorially. “Here’s the thing, Armie. You have a habit of going missing, through no fault of your own. If you go home, you might not come back.”

Armie opened and closed his mouth, and then a smile crept across his face. He was still struggling with the idea that Timmy truly cared whether he was around or not. The guy’s proximity started his stomach dancing. 

“I’ll come back,” Armie said. “Promise.”

“Good,” Timmy said. “Because I haven’t kissed you yet today.”

He rose up on his toes and tipped his face up. Armie stilled, his heart giving a solid thud-thud as Timmy’s breath tickled Armie’s lips. 

“And I’m not going to do it now,” Timmy murmured. “Give you a reason to hurry.”

He planted a hand flat on Armie’s chest and pushed him away. Armie stumbled backwards, his breath coming out in a small explosion of air. 

“Go,” he said. “Don’t get lost on your way back.”

Then he winked and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time as he bolted away. Armie watched him go, his head and heart spinning. 

He practically sprinted up the stairs to his own back lawn, then barreled into the house. He dropped Flora’s empty picnic basket in the kitchen and headed upstairs, where he showered in record time, then changed into shorts and a fresh tee-shirt. He took a few extra minutes to make sure his hair fell the way he wanted, slicking in a dab of pomade when a cowlick wouldn't cooperate with water alone. 

Then he made the return trek to the house next door, excitement tightening his chest. 

The back door opened easily and he stepped inside. The house was quieter than he’d seen it thus far. For once, there was no music blasting. He wandered through the house, walking softly to avoid disturbing a couple of people who seemed to be sleeping on the sofas in the living room. He followed the sound of voices and the clacking of billiard balls into the rec room, where he found a handful of people amidst a hovering cloud of smoke. 

Giullian, joint in hand, waved at him and smiled with bleary eyes. “Hey, Armie. Want to play?”

Armie scanned the space, looking for a lean figure and a mop of curly hair. 

“Thanks, but maybe not right now,” he said. “Have you seen—“

“He went upstairs,” Joey said. “About twenty minutes ago. I think he’s napping.”

“Oh.” Armie said. He felt suddenly deflated. Maybe Timmy’s enthusiasm for Armie to return had been a little exaggerated. Or maybe he’d just been wiped out from hours in the sun and fell asleep without meaning to. Armie tried to shake the disappointment off and decide what to do. Should he stay or go? 

“You can go up if you want, he won’t care,” Giullian said. “His room is down at the end of the hall. The big one.”

“Right...if he’s asleep, I can hang out here,” Armie said, since he really didn’t want to leave. “But I don’t want to be in the way, so if you guys are sick of me, just say so.”

“You’re good,” Joey said. “Grab a beer.”

“Armie, there you are.” Scott wandered in and plucked the joint from Giullian’s fingers. “Timmy said to tell you he went up to shower but you should go on up when you get here.”

He held out the joint in offering, but Armie shook his head. “Thanks but no thanks. I guess I’ll...go up then.”

The guys turned their attention back to the pool table and the joint as Armie made his departure. He climbed the stairs, anticipation building again with each step. 

He wasn’t sure what it was about Timmy that made him feel so...inept. It’s not like this was the first guy he’d ever been involved with. Armie knew he was good looking, and could be charming, and usually he could find ways to flirt, to take the lead, once he’d established mutual interest. This time, he found himself knocked off balance. 

Maybe it was the way Timmy seemed to dominate every space he was in. His self-assurance let Armie take a back seat, and while that was _thrilling,_ he wasn’t used to it. 

Whatever the case, he had no idea what Timmy would do next, or what his move should be. They’d kissed. Now he was going up to Timmy’s room, and...he didn’t know what to expect. 

When he reached the room, he hesitated. The door was cracked open, but the room beyond appeared silent. Slowly, he raised his fist and rapped his knuckles lightly on the door frame. 

“Come in,” Timmy called from inside. 

Armie pushed the door open slowly. Timmy was sprawled on his back on the bed, arms and legs stretched wide. He was wearing pale blue boxers and a white tee-shirt, and his wet curls spread across the pillow in a dark brown sunburst. 

“Hey,” Armie said. “Am I bothering you?”

“Of course not,” Timmy said. He raised his head for a second, smiling, before letting it fall back to the pillow. “I was waiting for you.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Armie asked. 

“I think I have a sunburn finally,” Timmy said, closing his eyes. “But I’m good. Are you going to stand there all day, or…”

Armie stepped further into the room. After a moment’s hesitation, he closed the door behind him. He looked at the man lying on the bed several feet away, and suddenly wasn’t going to be shy any longer. Timmy had made it clear what he wanted…it was time for Armie to do the same. 

He strode forward until he reached the bed and then climbed onto it, crawling up the mattress until he was even with Timmy, hovering over him, his knees on either side of Timmy’s hips and his hands planted beside Timmy’s shoulders. 

Timmy’s eyes fluttered open. “Hi,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. 

“I’m tired of waiting for you to kiss me,” Armie said. “So I guess I have to do it myself.”

He ducked his head and took Timmy’s lips with his own. If he’d been expecting a fight, he didn’t get one. Timmy opened to him immediately, coaxing his tongue inside with tiny, teasing licks. He slid a hand around the back of Armie’s neck, holding him in place, and arched his back so that their chests brushed together briefly. 

Armie happily ceded control and let himself be led. He let out a surprised grunt as Timmy suddenly rolled them over, taking the top position and sweeping his palms up Armie’s chest, skimming over his nipples and then cupping his jaw. 

Trying to focus on what Timmy was doing to both his mouth and his chest was overwhelming. Armie moaned softly, then gripped Timmy’s waist, pulling him down so he was laying flat atop Armie, their hips fitting together seamlessly. He cautiously laid a hand on Timmy’s ass, and when the touch wasn’t rejected, he squeezed the small, firm muscle lightly. 

Now Timmy was the one who moaned. 

The kissing and tentative exploration went on for a while, as the late afternoon sun began to sink in the sky. Timmy was the one who finally broke the kiss. “That was boss,” he said breathlessly. He sat back, settling his ass on Armie’s abs, and began to trace loops and lines across his chest with a finger. He tilted his head to one side. “You’ve got really blue eyes. Like, ocean blue. They’re pretty.”

Heat rushed to Armie’s cheeks, and Timmy looked absolutely delighted. He slid a palm along Armie’s left cheek.

“I love the way you blush. I was right about that, the first night.” He snickered. “You know, I was a little drunk that night, and for a minute I thought maybe you’d come _from_ the ocean, some mythic creature who’d offer me a deal: one epic night together in return for my soul.”

“Would you have taken the deal?” Armie asked. 

“I might have, the way you looked. Assuming I still have a soul left to bargain with.” He leaned down and kissed Armie gently, then slid to the side, nestling himself against Armie. He draped an arm across Armie’s stomach, a leg over his right thigh, and kissed his shoulder. “Sleepy,” he murmured, closing his eyes. 

Armie lay on his back, almost afraid to move. The long, lean lines of Timmy’s body pressed up against him. He could feel the guy’s breath tickling his neck, and when he turned his head, he got a face full of shampoo-scented curls. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh that took with it every bit of tension in his body. 

He felt himself drifting, dozing. It was okay. He could stay. He didn’t have to be home at all, really. By the time his parents got back, they’d assume he was out, and would not expect to see him until the next morning. There was plenty of time. 

Beside him, Timmy let out his own sigh and snuggled closer. Armie smiled and let himself fall asleep, wondering if he was the one who’d made a bargain with his soul. It was the only way to explain his good fortune.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Armie woke up, the light in the room had changed to the warm glow of pre-sunset. He blinked, disoriented, and then Timmy shifted in his arms, and the events of the afternoon came rushing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday!
> 
> 100% fiction, of course.

When Armie woke up, the light in the room had changed to the warm glow of pre-sunset. He blinked, disoriented, and then Timmy shifted in his arms, and the events of the afternoon came rushing back.

He looked at the man sleeping peacefully next to him with wonder. Timmy’s lashes rested against his pale cheeks, his pink lips were parted slightly, and his curls were spread across the pillow. He’d shifted in sleep so that his torso was resting on Armie’s, and his right arm curled around Armie’s waist.

This was the second time Armie had woken up with Timmy. He could make a habit of this, if given the opportunity.

He traced a finger over Timmy’s brow, along his jaw, and then over the thin layer of uneven bristles on his upper lip. Timmy smiled faintly and snuggled closer. Then his eyes fluttered open. They were cloudy for a moment, and then cleared. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Hi.” Armie smoothed a hand down Timmy’s back, his fingers bumping over Timmy’s vertebrae. 

“What time is it?” Timmy lifted his head and peered around the room. His stomach rumbled against Armie’s. “Did we miss dinner?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up, too.” Armie lifted his left arm and squinted at his watch. “It’s almost seven.”

“Just in time for dinner, then.” Timmy’s stomach rumbled again, and Armie laughed. 

“We slept for hours.” Armie continued to run his fingers up and down Timmy’s back.

Timmy hummed and stretched, his body elongating and contracting against Armie’s side. “You’re nice to sleep with,” he murmured. “Cozy.”

“Thanks,” Armie said. “It’s just because I’m big.” 

“No, that’s not it.” Timmy wriggled his hips. “I move a lot in my sleep. Usually. Roll all over the bed and wake up tangled in the sheets. I drive people crazy. This time I didn’t move at all.” He pushed himself up and peered down at Armie. “You’re better for my sleep than weed.”

Armie snorted in surprise. “Glad to be of service.”

Timmy shifted to straddle Armie again. He began to trail his fingers up and down Armie’s chest. “I want to touch you. Can I?”

“You _are_ touching me,” Armie pointed out. 

“No, I want to—“ Timmy pushed his fingers up under the hem of Armie’s shirt, where they danced along the skin of his abdomen. Armie gasped. “I want to _touch_ you.”

Armie’s hips gave a tiny, involuntary thrust. “Yes, please,” he said. 

Timmy grinned and licked his lips. Then his stomach whined loudly. 

“Maybe dinner first.” 

Before Armie could protest, Timmy hopped off of him and began rummaging through piles of clothing on the floor. Armie watched with interest as Timmy tossed items around the room haphazardly. He’d never been allowed to just leave his things lying around. There was something oddly alluring about the idea of being able to throw something somewhere and not have someone following after you with a scolding finger.

An item landed on the bed, and Armie picked it up. Then he hastily dropped it.

“Timmy?” he asked. 

“Yeah?” Timmy muttered an _aha_ under his breath as he located a pair of jeans under a chair in the corner.

Armie poked at the silky, lacy blue fabric lying on the edge of the bed. “Something you want to tell me?”

Timmy hopped to the side as he tugged the jeans on both legs at once. He paused and squinted at the camisole. 

“Oh,” he said. “That’s not mine. That must be Flo’s.”

Armie’s stomach dropped. “Flo’s underwear is...lying around your room?” 

With one last hop, Timmy yanked the jeans in place and then went on a hunt for shoes.

“She’s probably looking for it. We should throw it in her room.” He seemed completely unbothered, which increased Armie’s discomfort.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side, flattening his feet on the worn floorboards. “I’m wondering...just because it seems...why is her underwear in your room?”

Timmy stopped in his search and looked at Armie. He smiled. “You’re concerned about this.”

“No, I’m just...I thought you weren’t...with Flo…” Armie fiddled with a loose string on the edge of his shorts. _It doesn’t matter,_ he told himself. 

Timmy leaped across the room and tackled Armie, laying him flat across the bed and straddling his waist. He was grinning. 

“You’ve got a hang-up about Flo. Or is it any girl?” Timmy tilted his head to the side. “She sleeps in here sometimes. She probably pulled it off at night because she was hot.”

Armie raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t notice?”

“No. It’s not exactly weird. Flo goes topless sometimes, so it wouldn’t have been anything to remark about.” He shook his head and laid a palm flat on Armie’s chest. “I already told you that Flo isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Right. You said that. But now she’s sleeping naked in your bed—“

“Not _naked._ She was probably wearing underwear.”

Armie stopped talking. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because he had zero right to claim Timmy, anyhow. They’d barely kissed. They certainly hadn’t gone so far for him to feel reasonably possessive.

Even if he _did_.

Timmy leaned down and kissed Armie lightly. “Flo’s not my girlfriend. She’s my friend. We’ve known each other a long time. We share a place in LA, along with a few others.” Another kiss. “Now, can we go get dinner, because I’m starving. And then I want to come back here and then _you_ can be naked in my bed. If you want to be.”

He trailed a finger across Armie’s lower lip while biting his own, and Armie’s mouth went dry.

“I...okay,” Armie managed.

Timmy jumped off again, this time pulling Armie with him. “Come on, let’s go see if there’s any food around here.”

Armie let Timmy pull him out of the room and towards the stairs.

On the first floor, a few people were milling around. TImmy inquired about whereabouts, and they learned that a part of the group had gone out to dinner and everyone else awake had ordered pizza that was already gone.

_“We_ should go out to dinner,” Timmy said. “And since you’re here, you can take us somewhere good.”

“Ah...yeah. I mean, okay. Just us?” As much as Armie liked the idea, it made him a little nervous to go out to dinner with Timmy alone. It would look — and feel — like a date. And while Armie was fine with the latter, he needed to avoid the former, in case it got back to his parents.

Timmy glanced at him, immediately picking up on his fears. “We can see if anyone wants to join. Want me to get the girls again?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Armie nodded. Timmy patted his cheek. “Give me two seconds.”

It was more like seven minutes and two seconds, but eventually Timmy reappeared with Flo and J.C. in tow. Flo was yawning.

“They were napping, too,” Timmy said. “And Flo is hard to wake up.”

She smacked him on the shoulder. “I am not. I just didn’t see the point.”

“Until he explained that you were taking us to dinner like a dear,” J.C. said. She slipped her arm through Armie’s and hung off of his elbow.

Flo grinned sleepily and took up a spot on Armie’s other arm. “Yes. So generous. Let’s go.”

Timmy led the way to the front of the house, grabbing a set of rental car keys from a hook by the door. Once outside, J.C. let go of Armie and dashed down the steps.

“I’m driving,” she shouted, climbing into a pale blue convertible without opening the door. She slid into the seat, somehow produced a mint green head scarf from out of her cleavage, and wrapped it around her hair. “Hey Armie, sit shotgun so you can tell me where to go.”

Armie glanced at Timmy, who was laughing. “Sit up front at your own risk,” he said. “But find something to hold onto. J.C. is a terrible driver.”

“Am not,” J.C. shot back. She smiled sweetly at Armie and patted the seat next to her. 

The drive into town wasn’t long, but Timmy was right. It wasn’t that the girl was a _bad_ driver, exactly. She handled the car expertly. It was more that she seemed to think things like stop signs and road markings and speed limits were merely suggestions. Subtly gripping the underside of the dashboard for stability, Armie directed them to an Italian spot he liked, and J.C, parked crookedly next to the curb. 

They settled in a booth next to the window. A waiter in a white coat and black trousers brought a basket of warm, crusty garlic bread, and Timmy ordered a bottle of the house Chianti for the table. 

Flo and J.C. began an intense discussion of what songs to select on the tabletop jukebox, spinning the metal dial to flip the pages back and forth. Timmy dug a handful of dimes out of his pocket and deposited them on the table with a clatter, and Flo grinned and kissed him on the cheek. 

He turned his attention to the paper menu. “This says ‘steamed Little Necks with drawn butter.’ What is a ‘Little Neck?’” Timmy frowned. “Little neck of what?”

Armie grinned. “It’s clams,” he said. 

“Clams have necks?” Timmy’s eyebrows shot up. “I guess if they do, they’d be little.”

“It’s a type of clam,” Armie said, laughing. “They’re really common around here.”

“Are they good?”

“If you like clams, sure,” Armie said. 

Timmy looked puzzled. “I don’t know if I like clams. Let’s try them.”

The waiter returned with the wine, and they placed their orders. Timmy poured the wine, the girls finished feeding dimes into the jukebox, and they settled into easy conversation. 

When the clams arrived, Armie explained to Timmy about the small bowl of hot water the waiter had placed in front of him beside the one with the butter. 

“It’s to wash the clams,” Armie said. 

Timmy made a face. “They don’t come pre-washed?”

“No, you have to...it’s because of the sand. That might have still been in the shell. Here, watch.” Armie picked up a clam shell, pulled out the meat, swished it in the water, then dipped it in the butter and popped it in his mouth. “See?”

Timmy looked uncertain, but he followed suit. When he got to the washing part, he took his time, brushing at it with his fingers. 

“What are you doing”? Armie asked. “Just…”

He reached out, took the clam from Timmy’s hand, shook the water off of it, then dipped it in the butter and held it out. 

“Here. Try it,” he said. 

Timmy opened his mouth, and Armie fed him the clam. Their eyes met for a brief second. A bolt of desire sliced through Armie as Timmy’s lips brushed his fingers, and he pulled his hand back, hiding it in the napkin in his lap. He looked away, hating that he was blushing. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Timmy said. Armie snuck a look back up and saw that his eyes were sparkling. “But honestly I think what’s good is the delivery.” He winked. “The _butter,_ I mean.”

They polished off the clams and then their dinners arrived. Armie was halfway through his chicken parmigiana, and laughing heartily at J.C.’s description of Timmy trying to learn how to ride a horse for his role in _Burnt Horizon,_ when he heard his name. 

He turned to see the Wallace twins, along with Jay Ashford and Tom Benjamin, entering the restaurant. He froze. 

_It’s fine,_ he reminded himself. _You’re just having dinner._

As if on cue, J.C. slid closer and rested a hand on the back of his neck, playing with his hair. 

“Armand,” Richie called again, waving. Armie waved back and the group started over. 

“Friends of yours?” Timmy asked, watching them with interest. 

“Yeah. Summer people. They don’t live here year round, they just come for the summers.” 

“Like me?” 

“No, not...well, sort of. But it’s different.” Armie put his napkin beside his plate and stood as his friends approached. “Good to see you,” he said, extending his hand and shaking one, two, three. “Rich. Tom. Jay. Hi, Sally.”

“Jay and Tom got in today,” Richie said. “We rang the house this afternoon, but no one answered.”

“I was...on the beach,” Armie said. He glanced over his shoulder, at where Timmy and the girls were looking on patiently. “Hey, this is Timmy, and that’s Flo, and—“

J.C. was at his side, snaking an arm around his waist. “I’m J.C.,” she said, tossing her hair and flashing white teeth. “It’s nice to meet friends of...Armand.”

Gratefully, he draped an arm over her shoulder. “They rented the old Winston place next door for the season.”

“What does J.C. stand for?” Jay asked. 

“Just Cheeky.” J.C. winked, and Jay laughed and exchanged a look with Armie. The look said, _she’s a handful._ Armie just pulled her closer. 

“Hold on, aren’t you — you _are_ ,” Sally said, pushing past her brother. “Armand, this is...Timothée Chalamet. You’re _Timothée Chalamet.”_

“I know,” Timmy said, smirking. “You guys want to join us?”

Everyone agreed. They called the waiter over, and there was a flurry of activity before the newcomers were seated at a table pushed up against the end of the booth. Sally maneuvered herself into the chair closest to Timmy and immediately began asking him questions. He seemed to enjoy the attention, his smile and laughter genuine.

Armie focused on the guys. He asked Jay and Tim about their plans for the summer and beyond. He answered questions about his parents, and mutual acquaintances from Harvard. J.C. put herself practically in Armie’s lap, and joined in the conversation with an ease that Armie admired. 

Another two bottles of wine appeared, and before long there was a lull of food coma and wine drowsiness. Armie idly thought about getting a gift for J.C., who seemed _awfully_ interested in Richie Wallace but, to her extreme credit, continued to play her part. 

Across the table, Flo leaned into Timmy, resting her head on his shoulder. At one point, he turned and kissed the top of her head. Armie watched them, wondering. Timmy said they were close...they seemed almost _too_ close. He tried to stamp out the spark of jealousy that flared up when Timmy stroked her arm. 

Carefully, he slid a foot forward until it bumped up against Timmy’s. Timmy shot a glance in his direction, but didn’t otherwise react. 

Then Armie felt a repeated pressure on top of his shoe, an answering _tap-tap-tap_ and then a nudge. 

“All right, I hate to cut the party short, but I think it’s time to head back home,” Timmy said. “I think I got too much sun today.”

Sally looked comically disappointed, but she quickly recovered. “I know what we’ll do. We’ll take you to Sea View tomorrow. As a big old Rhode Island welcome party.”

“Sea View?” Timmy asked. 

“The beach club,” Armie supplied. 

“You’ll love it,” said Sally. “It’s very posh.”

“Oh, posh.” Timmy smirked. “Then I’m sure it’s exactly my style.”

Armie choked back a laugh. “So is that the plan?” he asked, eyeing Timmy. “You interested in a day at the beach club?”

“Sure, I can dig it,” Timmy said. 

Armie’s friends stood and made room so Timmy and his party could slide out of the booth. There were handshakes all around. Timmy kissed Sally on the cheek, and she turned a shade of magenta Armie had never seen before. 

Once back in the car — Armie driving this time, with Timmy beside him and the girls in the back — Armie sighed. 

“Do you really want to go to the beach club tomorrow?” he asked. “If you want to get out of it, I can make excuses.”

“Are you going?” Timmy asked. 

“Yeah, I should,” Armie said, pulling onto the road. “They’ll expect me to.”

“Then I want to go.” Timmy grinned at Armie, then slid over on the bench seat and laid a hand on Armie’s thigh, where it sat, a light pressure that Armie knew was going to torture him. “And if Sally is going to be there, we don’t even need to drag the girls.”

“Oh no, you’re not leaving us out,” Flo said. “J.C. wants to see what Richie looks like without a shirt and she will not be stymied.”

“I’ll be subtle about it, though,” J.C. said. 

“Hey,” Armie said, “what _does_ J.C. stand for, anyway?”

“Juicy Cherries,” J.C. said. 

Armie rolled his eyes, and tried not to let Timmy’s wandering hand distract him from driving. 

Back at the house, Timmy offered Flo a hand out of the car. 

“Thanks again, girls,” he said. “For the cover.”

“Our pleasure, honey,” Flo said. She kissed him on the lips as she straightened up. “Any time we can get a free dinner…”

She glanced over and saw Armie watching, and smiled. As they headed in, with Timmy in the lead, she sidled up to Armie. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about with me,” she whispered. 

“What?” Armie frowned. 

“You’re the shiny new toy, Armie,” she said. “He’s only got eyes for you right now.”

“He...does?” 

She giggled. “He’s been talking about you since the night you met, on the beach. He’ll get distracted by someone eventually — he always does — but it won’t be by me. I swear on my Chanel clutch.”

She bounced up and kissed him on the cheek. Then she dashed away, grabbing J.C.’s hand and dragging her into the house, saying something about a dance party and leaving Armie staring after her, his insides churning with anticipation and confusion. 

The music had already started pumping by the time Armie caught up with Timmy in the kitchen. Timmy was guzzling water from a glass. He refilled it under the tap and passed it to Armie, who drank it down. 

“Please don’t ask me to join the dance party,” he said, setting the empty glass on the counter. 

Timmy smiled. “Okay. Let’s go sit on the deck for a bit.”

Armie followed him outside. Penny, the girl Armie had caught in action the first night he came to the house, was lounging on a sofa with Joey. They were passing a joint between them. 

“Hey boys,” Penny said. “How was dinner?”

Timmy snagged the joint and took a hit. “Delicious,” he said, the word choked off from holding in his breath. Then he blew out a steady stream of smoke. “Did you know clams have little necks?”

“Gross,” Joey said, making a face. 

Timmy offered the joint to Armie, and Armie took it. He’d felt nice the other night, the first time he’d smoked, and now that he knew he could stay...with Timmy…

He took a hit. 

They settled on the sofa beside the others. It was a bit crowded, and after the joint made a second round, Timmy leaned into Armie with a sigh. He took Armie’s left hand in both of his and began to trace shapes and patterns on Armie’s palm. 

It felt so _nice_ Armie sank lower in the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him. 

“Tell me about summer people,” Timmy said, his voice going soft around the edges, like the bottom bits of a goose feather. “Why is it different from what I’m doing?”

“I don’t know,” Armie said. “Those guys, they...their families own houses up the beach. But they live elsewhere. Jay lives in Boston, and Tom in Hartford. Well, their families do, they’re both at Yale right now.”

“And I live in L.A.” Timmy took one more hit, but when he offered it, Armie shook his head. He was already feeling less substantial than a few minutes earlier. Timmy passed the joint back to Joey and returned to play with Armie’s hand. 

“Right, but...Boston and Hartford are sort of close to here. And the Wallaces only live in Providence. But every summer they come and live in these giant houses that are empty for most of the year. I don’t...I can’t explain it.” He stretched out his palm, giving Timmy better access. “Then they kind of act like they own everything, like this place only exists when they’re in it and isn’t a functioning town year round. They treat townies like...servants sometimes.”

“That’s shitty. You’re friends with these people?”

Armie shrugged. “Yes? They’re not bad, really. They’re nice people overall. It’s just an attitude that they grew up with and have adopted and probably aren’t even aware of.”

“You could make them aware.”

“I guess I could. I’m not sure it would make a difference. They’d probably laugh at me and think I was making a joke.” Armie turned his head to find Timmy watching him, his eyes shining in the moonlight, his mouth open slightly. 

Without thinking, Armie leaned down and nipped at Timmy’s lower lip, sinking his teeth into it gently. Then he licked away the bite, tasting smoke and garlic. Unable to stop himself, he pressed his lips against Timmy’s. 

The guy didn’t seem to need any more encouragement. He kissed back, slowly, as if to draw the moment out. Armie parted his lips, and Timmy advanced, sliding his tongue between them to tangle with Armie’s. 

It felt so good to kiss Timmy. Armie had kissed plenty of people since that first sloppy dorm room experiment with James Grenville, but with Timmy it was...different. It wasn’t just that Timmy was an expert kisser — which we was — it was more that, from the very first, it had felt like they _fit_. 

Timmy shifted, his mouth breaking from Armie’s long enough for him to climb into Armie’s lap, straddling his thighs. Then he was back, his hands cupping Armie’s jaw, pressing Armie into the sofa with a soft moan. Armie clutched at Timmy’s waist, then slid his hands down to squeeze Timmy’s ass. He lifted his hips, grinding up into the other man, and was rewarded with a shudder that made him smile around the kiss. 

“Can you stay?” Timmy whispered urgently. “Can you stay tonight?”

_Could he?_ His parents were probably home at this point. Maybe in bed. They’d have assumed he was out with friends. He could probably sneak back in in the morning before they woke up, or say he’d gone out for an early walk. 

“Yes,” Armie whispered back. 

Timmy slid off of his lap and Armie drew in a breath of ocean air and blinked. He’d forgotten they were out in the open, here on the deck. All he’d been able to focus on was Timmy’s mouth. He blushed, realizing that Penny and Joey were still curled up on the other end of the sofa, talking quietly as if they hadn’t noticed what was going on two feet from them. Maybe they hadn’t. Or maybe they had and didn’t care. 

The rush of _freedom_ Armie felt in that moment would have knocked him over if he hadn’t already been sitting down. 

“Come with me,” Timmy said, extending a hand. 

Armie looked up at him. His face was in shadow, the moon behind him a bright spot that made it difficult to see his features. All Armie could do was trust that Timmy wanted this, wanted _him_ , and leap. 

He placed his hand in Timmy’s and let the man tug him to his feet. They entered the house, and Timmy waved to a few of his friends crossing through the back hall. It wasn’t even late. Maybe just past ten, about time for the never-ending party to pick up steam. But here he was, being led away from the crowd, _holding Timmy’s hand,_ and it was absurdly obvious what was going on between them. 

The weed must have dulled his panic responses, because instead of feeling like he needed to flee to a dark corner, he felt _proud._ That out of all of the people here, Timmy had chosen him. Was interested in _him_. 

_For now,_ interrupted a little voice in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it, but it persisted. _A shiny new toy,_ is what Flo had called him. Timmy would _get distracted by someone eventually._

A surge of jealousy hit him, even though he knew it was stupid. This was not the thing to dwell on as he was literally climbing the stairs to Timmy’s room. He needed to enjoy the time he had, and not demand more than he deserved. 

They reached the bedroom, and Timmy shut the door behind them. 

“Finally,” he murmured. “Thanks for dinner, Armie. I was a sure thing without it, but my stomach _is_ the way to my heart.”

Then he stepped close, pushing Armie up against the door, palms on his chest. He rose up and brushed their lips together. 

“Can I touch you now?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he skimmed his hands down to Armie’s waist and then over his crotch, getting a hold of Armie’s half-hard cock through his shorts. 

Armie gasped. “Fuck,” he said, letting his head fall back against the door with a thud. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re a handful,” Timmy said with a giggle. He stroked along Armie’s cock and back down and Armie went fully hard. 

He grabbed Timmy’s shoulders and fastened his lips onto Timmy’s neck, sucking harder as Timmy whined and arched against him. He began walking him backwards towards the bed, biting down on his collarbone and earning a tiny yelp. 

Timmy began to wriggle, and Armie realized he was trying to pull his tee-shirt over his head. He grabbed the end of it and yanked up, and after a moment of tugging, it was free. He tossed it on the floor and his hands immediately began to roam all over Timmy’s pale skin. 

“God,” Timmy said, shivering under his touch, “your _hands_.”

Timmy let him explore for a minute, nipping and sucking and stroking wherever he could reach, before cool fingers were sneaking under the hem of Armie’s own shirt. Then it was pushed up and Armie pulled it off impatiently, slinging it to the floor beside Timmy’s. 

He was spun around and pushed onto the bed, and he scrambled his way up, Timmy crawling after him, a predatory look in his eyes. A quaking desire washed over Armie. He was used to being the aggressor in matters of the bedroom. It was expected of him, since he was always the bigger one, and he didn’t mind, but _this…_ He didn’t think anyone had ever looked at him quite like this before, and it was a heady feeling, being stalked. 

“You’re beautiful,” Timmy said, sitting back on his heels. He trailed a single finger down the center of Armie’s chest. “I can’t wait to taste every inch of you.”

Armie’s fists grabbed at the sheets. One of them closed over a softer fabric, and he lifted it off the bed. 

The camisole. Flo’s camisole. He tried not to let what Flo had said earlier come back into his mind, but...there it was. He was a shiny new toy, and Timmy would get distracted by someone else. 

“What’s the matter?” Timmy asked, sensing a shift in the mood. 

“So you’re really not sleeping with Flo?” Armie asked, holding up the camisole.

“We already had this conversation,” Timmy said, a tiny frown marring his features.

“Right. I’m sorry. You’re so comfortable with her, like at dinner, it really looks like—“

“We’re _actors_ ,” Timmy said. “And good friends. But also...we have slept together. We just aren’t right now.”

“Oh.” Armie paused at that revelation. “Would you again?”

“If she offered at some point...probably,” Timmy said. “I mean, I like girls too.”

“What if she offered...tomorrow?” Armie asked, hating himself with each word. “Or...someone else did?”

Timmy looked at Armie for a long minute. “Armie,” he said carefully, “I don’t do jealousy.”

“What?”

“Jealousy isn’t my thing. So as much as it would break my whole heart, if you’re going to get jealous every time someone might catch my eye for a second, then—“

“I’m not jealous,” Armie said, a cold fear snaking down his chest. He was going to mess this up before it had a chance to start, wasn’t he? “I’m not — I won’t—“

“I’m here for the summer,” Timmy said. “Just the summer. Like you. And then I’ll go back to L.A. and you’ll go back to Harvard, and it’ll be like...good memories — lots of them, I hope — that we can look back on.”

A sense of unearned regret settled over Armie. Timmy was right. He didn’t know what he was getting so tense about, when this wasn’t anything more than two men having a little fun for a while. He’d done it before, he’d do it again. For his whole life, most likely. 

Dwelling on that would make him sad, so he shoved it aside. 

“I know,” he said. “I wasn’t meaning to imply…anything else.”

Timmy looked thoughtful. “What if I say that, as long as you and I are fooling around, I won’t fool around with anyone else. Would that make it better?”

Armie nodded, and exhaled slowly. 

“Okay then,” Timmy said. “While we’re a thing, we’re a thing. But if we do that, you have to promise me something.”

“Promise what?” Armie asked. 

“You can’t get all jealous any time someone kisses me or I have my arm around someone or — whatever. I like to touch people. I like to be touched. I like to look and admire. But if I tell you there’s nothing else, there’s nothing else. You have to promise to trust me to be honest with you. I will _tell_ you if i need to move on, you won’t have to guess.”

Armie swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “I promise.”

Timmy smiled. “Good. Because I can’t imagine wanting anyone else while I’ve got access to you, anyway,” he said. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

He climbed atop Armie then and made good on his word, sealing their agreement with a kiss that had Armie’s toes curling. He reached for Timmy, finding his waist and fumbling with the button on his jeans. Timmy angled his hips up to give Armie better access, but continued his assault on Armie’s mouth. 

When the button finally gave way, Armie yanked the zipper down and then slid his hand inside, finding Timmy’s cock straining against his boxers. 

“Umff,” Timmy moaned into Armie’s mouth, thrusting himself against Armie’s palm with short, jerky movements. 

Then he rolled to the side, and fought with his jeans and boxers until he was able to kick them off the bed. They hit the floor with a _whumpf._

“Now you,” Timmy said. He made quick work of Armie’s shorts and his own boxers, sending them after the jeans. “Holy fuck,” Timmy breathed, gazing down at Armie with eyes wide. 

Armie felt his cheeks and neck and — probably everything else — heat to a bright pink. 

“I just want to — let me —“ Timmy scooted down the mattress. Then he dipped his head and licked a stripe up the underside of Armie’s cock. 

Armie groaned. 

When Timmy’s mouth closed around his cock, Armie cried out, and couldn’t help thrusting up. He was ready to apologize for choking the guy, but Timmy took it in stride, swallowing him down and setting up a rhythm that matched the twitching of his hips. 

This man could give _classes_ , Armie thought, his left hand dancing in Timmy’s curls. He wasn't going to last. He was already seeing stars at the edges of his vision, was already feeling his balls drawing up, already sensing that _rush_ that was about to make it too late. 

“I’m gonna — watch out,” he managed, just before he exploded with a cry. 

Instead of backing off, the way he expected, Timmy swallowed him down again, and he pulsed over and over into the man’s throat as it worked around him, milking him dry. He felt like he was coming forever, wave after wave of pleasure hitting him until he was gasping for breath. 

Finally, it subsided, and Timmy pulled off, sucking his way up to the tip and then grinning like a satisfied cat, licking his lips and shaking his hair out of his face. 

“Beautiful,” Timmy said, the word thick in his throat. 

“Jesus,” Armie breathed. “Thank you.”

He closed his eyes and felt himself drifting in that hazy, post-orgasmic state. It might have had something to do with the weed as well, he realized. He felt Timmy snuggle up beside him, sheets pulled over him, and forced his eyes open. 

“You...I can take care of you,” he said, the words slurring. He fought the drowsiness. “I want to…”

“Later,” Timmy whispered in his ear. “We’ve got all night.”

“All night,” Armie agreed. His eyes closed again. As he let the sleep take him under, he thought he heard one more thing, though he might have imagined it.

“We’ve got all summer,” Timmy whispered. “All summer.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie knew it was risky, introducing Timmy to the summer crowd. These were people he’d known all his life. Whose parents knew his parents. Word traveled fast in a small beach town like theirs, and all it would take was one wrong look, one accidental touch, one overheard comment, for all the carefully constructed dominos of his world to come crashing down around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% fiction, of course.
> 
> ❤️

_ I’m going to regret this.  _

Armie knew it was risky, introducing Timmy to the summer crowd. These were people he’d known all his life. Whose parents knew his parents. Word traveled fast in a small beach town like theirs, and all it would take was one wrong look, one accidental touch, one overheard comment, for all the carefully constructed dominos of his world to come crashing down around him. 

He was already struggling to keep his hands to himself and his thoughts off of his face when it came to Timmy, and it was downright terrifying to know he’d have to do it for an entire afternoon. 

He watched his friends pull into the parking lot at the beach club, one right after the other, as if they’d coordinated a caravan. The Wallaces were in front in their blue Corvette, followed by Jay Ashford in his more sensible white Impala, and then Tom Benjamin in his cherry red Galaxie. 

They turned into their parking spaces nearly in unison, like something out of a movie, honking and waving. 

“So…” Timmy said from beside him. “You’re a member of a street gang, right? They’re gonna spill out of those cars with knives and start a rumble with the Jets?”

Armie snickered. “Something like that,” he said. He raised a hand and waved back at the arriving crowd. 

And it was a crowd, or more of one than he had thought there would be. Tom had brought along his kid sister and a friend of hers, and they climbed out of the Galaxie, giggling and straightening their sleeveless crop tops and matching checkered shorts. Jay was joined by Carl Callahan and his sister Susie. 

It seemed as though more of the summer people had landed. 

“Armand,” Carl called. “Been a century. How’s your portfolio?”

Armie rolled his eyes. “Better than yours.” 

“How’s your  _ portfolio?” _ Timmy muttered under his breath. Armie glanced at him, and could tell he was suppressing a laugh. 

Armie watched his lips curve, wishing he could trace them with his fingers. It was amazing that he still wanted to, that he still craved touching this man, after the night they’d had.

_ They’d woken up several times before dawn, falling together in easy, hushed exploration. Lips and tongues tangled and tasted, fingers skimmed over skin, they whispered and moaned in each other’s ears as they stroked each other to orgasm. _

_ In the morning, Armie had woken Timmy one last time before he had to leave, feasting on his mouth once more. _

_ Then he’d snuck home, needing to get in before either of his parents awoke. He’d made it without incident and had lain in bed, reliving the hours that had passed with a dazed smile on his face. _

Now, Timmy looked up at him, and his expression softened. His eyes dropped to Armie’s mouth, and Armie felt a thrill at the knowledge that — just maybe — Timmy was remembering their night as well.

_ Stop, _ he cautioned himself. He cleared his throat and straightened up, resolutely tearing his eyes off of Timmy and promising himself he’d keep it together. He had to. 

The group gathered bags out of the trunks of the cars and made their way towards where Armie was standing with Timmy, Flo, and JC.

Armie shook hands with the guys and accepted kisses on the cheek from the girls. There was a flurry of  _ how have you beens  _ and  _ god I’m so glad it’s finally summer _ and  _ you look amazing _ . Then Armie introduced Timmy and the girls to the new additions. The women all eyed Timmy, and he grinned at them, clearly enjoying the attention.

_ No jealousy, _ Armie reminded himself.

Still, even though he knew he was playing with fire, he couldn’t help but place a firm hand on Timmy’s shoulder, gripping it tightly as if to stake his claim.

“Shall we go in and show the visitors what Sea View Beach Club has to offer?” he asked.

They headed into the clubhouse, checking in with the front desk and registering the guests for the day. Richie had called ahead and reserved a couple of cabanas, and the group collected lounge chairs and then exited the clubhouse onto the sand and headed towards their designated structures.

There was easy chatter as they set things up, laying out towels and unfolding lounge chairs onto the sand. The girls broke out the baby oil and began to lather themselves from head to toe. Flo and JC joined the others and in no time were giggling and sharing wide-brimmed hats and stories.

Timmy collapsed onto a sofa inside one of the cabanas, and winked at Armie before patting the cushion beside him. With a quick glance around to ensure that the others were busy, Armie accepted the invitation and lowered himself onto the sofa. The canvas cushion crackled underneath his weight. 

He was careful to maintain a space between them, but his skin rippled with nearness anyhow. Timmy slid his foot to the right until it was just resting against Armie’s. They exchanged a glance, and then Timmy moved his foot away just as Richie entered the tent. 

_ Careful,  _ Armie reminded himself. 

“I’m starving,” Richie said, patting his stomach. “Let’s get some food.”

The rest of them agreed, and they raised the flag for the waitstaff. Within ten minutes, Richie had ordered burgers and fries for the group. He then settled into a chair near Timmy. 

“So what made you decide on Westerly for a summer vacation?” Richie asked. 

Timmy shrugged. “My agent set it up. I just needed to be somewhere that wasn’t LA, and I wanted to be near the beach still, but somewhere kind of out of the way. He found this.”

“We’re so lucky that he did,” Sally said, entering the tent and perching on the arm of Richie’s chair. “That you ended up here. What’s it like to be a movie star?”

“Amazing and a pain in the ass all at once,” Timmy said, flashing a set of white teeth. 

“But will you need to go back to LA to film over the summer?” Sally asked. “Or are you here for the entire time?”

“I might need to go back for some reshoots,” Timmy said. “But I’m not scheduled to be on set again full time until September. In the meantime, I’m supposed to be reading scripts, but...I haven’t really gotten around to doing much of that yet.”

“Is that all the stacks of paper on your nightstand?” Armie asked, without thinking.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could swallow them back. How was he supposed to explain being in a position to notice what was on Timmy’s nightstand, of all places?  _ Fuck,  _ he was messing this up already _.  _

But Timmy was already answering. “On the desk, the floor, you’ve probably seen some on the deck and the kitchen counter. My agent has sent me boxes and I don’t know how he expects me to read all of them.”

“Are any of them good?” Sally asked. 

Timmy shrugged. “A few I’ve glanced at look promising. Some not.” He rolled his eyes. “Unless a film about an alien who falls in love with a car sounds appealing to you.”

“Are you up for the part of the car or the alien?” Armie asked. 

Timmy snorted. “Neither, smartass. I’m supposed to be reading for the car’s owner, who the film is really about.”

The conversation continued, and Armie slowly relaxed. It seemed like no one had noticed or thought it strange that he’d seen the scripts. 

The food arrived, and they ate with gusto. J.C. dragged Richie into the ocean, and they were followed by some of the others. Timmy seemed content to sit out on the sand with a beer, and Armie tried to decide if he should go into the ocean with the others, so as not to seem too glued to Timmy’s side. 

Sally didn’t seem to have such concerns, as she sprawled herself artfully on her towel and continued pestering Timmy with questions. Armie tried not to be bothered by the way she kept touching Timmy’s arm or knee.

“You should let us take you out on the boat sometime,” she said. “We try to take it out on most weekends, so if you’re free you can join us.”

Timmy hummed non-committaly. Then he turned to Armie. “What about you? Do you have a boat?”

“Oh, the Hammer yacht is amazing,” Sally said, before Armie could answer. “Armand, you haven’t taken him out yet?”

“You have a yacht?” Timmy asked, a corner of his lip quirking up. “I should have known.”

“A small one,” Armie said, blushing. “And it’s my father’s, not mine.”

“It’s so nice,” Sally said. “Way better than our little thing.” She stood up and peered down the beach, holding her hand over her eyes to block the sun and squinting. “You can almost see it from here, I think,” she said. 

“It’s here?” Timmy asked Armie. 

“Yeah,” Armie said. “Or rather, at the yacht club next door. It’s easier because they’ll maintain it for us as part of the slip fees.”

“Will you show it to me?”

Armie fidgeted. Timmy was watching him, a glint in his eye. 

“Ooh, yes,” Sally said, bouncing on her toes. “Let’s show Timmy the yacht.”

“Sure, I guess,” Armie said, with a shrug. 

He got to his feet, and instinctively reached a hand down to help Timmy up. The man squeezed his forearm and pulled himself to his feet. 

They started off down the beach. Within a few seconds, however, Flo came bounding up. 

“Sally,” she said, breathless. “Come on, you're coming with me.”

“Why?” Sally asked. 

“I need you. Girl stuff,” Flo said. She grabbed Sally’s hand and started dragging her away, tossing a wink over her shoulder. Sally made a few noises of protest, but eventually gave in, leaving Armie standing next to Tim, bewildered. 

“Let’s go,” Timmy said, poking at Armie’s bicep. “I want to see this impressive boat.”

“Is...did you ask Flo…” Armie began, trying to articulate his thoughts. 

“No, but she’s sharp. She sees us walking somewhere...she assumes we want to be alone if possible. I told you she’d help us.”

With a roll of his eyes and a zing of anticipation in his stomach, Armie led Timmy down the beach to the yacht club entrance. He checked in at security and signed Timmy in as a guest, then they walked out to the slips and over to his parents’ fifty-seven footer. 

“There she is,” he said, waving his hand with a flourish. “Home sweet boat.”

Timmy let out a low whistle. “She’s a beauty.” Then he glanced sideways at Armie and winked. “Or I’m guessing, since I know nothing about boats and have never been on a yacht.”

“Never?” Armie asked. 

“Nope.” Timmy squinted at the script scrawled across the white paint. “ _ Hammer’s Haven? _ That’s the name?” he asked. 

“Yeah, it’s…it’s dumb, but my father likes his name — our name — on things,” Armie said. He shoved his hair off of his forehead and laughed shortly. “Well...do you want to go aboard?”

Timmy nodded eagerly. They made their way down the dock and, deciding to forgo the ramp, Armie stepped onto the gunnel. He unclipped the safety line, held onto the railing to make sure his footing was secure, and then extended a hand. Timmy grabbed it and stepped aboard.

Armie showed him around, hyper-aware of Timmy’s slightly skeptical expression as he took in the kitchen, the luxury seating, and the fully stocked bar of the main cabin. 

“It’s a lot, I know,” Armie said, trying to see it with virgin eyes. It was a nice setup, but also...pretentious, with white leather and chrome everywhere. And who needed a full humidor on a boat?

“It’s just...I’ve been sailing, and I kind of get that. It’s fun and sort of freeing to be flying along on top of the water. But I don’t get why you’d need to be on a boat if you’re sitting in here on a leather sofa and smoking a cigar, with tinted windows around you. You can do that at home or at a restaurant. Isn’t the point of being out on the water to be...out on the water?” Timmy frowned. 

“Sure,” said Armie. “But there’s...come with me.” 

He began climbing the stairs to the deck on the bow, Timmy following behind. At the top of the stairs, he stepped to the side, and heard Timmy gasp behind him. 

“Oh, okay,” Timmy said. “I get it. Up here you can see the water, and not just through a window.”

“There’s also the aft deck, where there’s a jacuzzi,” Armie said. 

Timmy moved to the railing and peered out towards the ocean. 

“So when you take this out, you go out there?” he asked, pointing. 

“Yeah. But  _ I _ don’t take her out. It’s mostly my dad, and mostly on weekends, and mostly...he uses it for business and whatever and not so much pleasure. Takes associates and contacts and their wives or girlfriends out, wines and dines them.” Armie shrugged. “I go along sometimes, but it can be boring. It’s okay when it’s the Wallaces or another family around here, because then my friends can go too. But the Wallaces have a Triton, and we usually go out on that if it’s just us. It’s easier.”

Timmy spun around and leaned back against the railing. “What’s below deck?” he asked, his lips curving into a smirk. 

Electricity began to crackle along Armie’s skin at the look in Timmy’s eye. He cleared his throat. “I’ll show you.”

They went back down to the main cabin, and then Armie opened the door to the cabins below. He sidled down the narrow staircase, ducking to avoid hitting his head, and then headed directly into the first bedroom. 

“Nice,” Timmy said, moving into the space and spinning around slowly, taking in the double bed, the teak built-ins, the narrow windows high on the wall. “Seems to have everything you’d need.”

“There are two other bedrooms. One is almost exactly like this, but a little bigger — that’s the master. Then there’s one with bunk beds.” Armie looked around. “Bathroom is through there.”

Timmy poked his head into the tiny bathroom. “Amazing,” he said. “I haven’t spent a lot of time on boats, so l never pictured there being so much...space.”

“Yeah, and this is built special because we’re so tall…”

Armie trailed off as Timmy twirled around once and then threw himself onto the bed with a  _ whoop. _ He rolled onto his side and patted the mattress. 

“Get over here. I’ve been thinking about nothing but touching you again since you crept out of my bed before dawn like a sexy ninja. By the way, you’re awfully graceful for someone so...so....”

“Massive?” Armie laughed. “Thanks, I think.” He hesitated, the rest of Timmy’s words registering. “So you had fun last night?”

“It was unreal,” Timmy said. He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows. “What are you waiting for? We’ve got a minute to ourselves, let’s not waste it.”

“Just hang on,” Armie said. He crossed to the windows and drew the shades. It was highly unlikely his parents or maintenance would come aboard while they were here, or that someone would walk by on the dock, but….  _ Better to be safe than sorry.  _ When he turned around, Timmy was watching him, his eyes hooded.

“How long do you think we have?” Timmy asked. “A half hour?”

“Probably,” Armie said. “We can always say we stuck around to crack into the liquor cabinet, since I can’t drink on the beach.”

“Perfect,” Timmy said. He licked his lips and smiled. 

The way the man was watching him left Armie almost breathless, and he suddenly moved forward, feeling as if Timmy was pulling on a string and drawing him in, inch by inch. When he reached the bed, he stretched out beside Timmy, resting a hand on his chest.

They stared at each other for a moment. Armie let himself get lost in Timmy’s gaze, their surroundings fading away. All he could see and think about was the man beside him. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Timmy’s lips, drawing a soft sigh out of Timmy before he returned the kiss. 

With how anxious Timmy had seemed to get started, and how limited they were on time, Armie expected it to be intense and urgent. Instead, Timmy seemed content to kiss lazily, running his lips along Armie’s neck and nibbling at his collarbone. Armie sank into the sensations, letting his hand roam down Timmy’s chest and stomach. Timmy responded by rolling his hips up, and Armie skimmed a hand down over his crotch. 

“Careful,” Timmy murmured, closing his eyes. “We don’t have too much time.”

Armie cupped Timmy’s clothed cock, stroking it as it hardened under his attentions. Timmy groaned. 

Then his eyes flickered open, and he rolled Armie onto his back, straddling him and grinding their hips together. “I can’t wait to fuck you,” he whispered. “Or for  _ you _ to — which are you? Top or bottom?”

“Either,” Armie managed, moving his hips with Timmy’s easily. “Fuck...either.”

He generally preferred to top, but with Timmy…the idea of this man driving  _ into  _ him left him weak. That seemed to be the correct answer, because Timmy grinned.

“Right on,” Timmy said, his eyes sparkling. “I knew we were compatible. I’m good with either, too.” He dropped his torso onto Armie’s and attacked his mouth again with relish. 

After a while, he rolled to the side with a sigh and began to trace circles on Armie’s chest with his fingers. “How many men have you had here?” he asked. “Ballpark.”

“Here?” Armie said, momentarily confused. 

“On this boat. How many guys have you tempted with all the luxury?” Timmy poked Armie’s chest. “I’m just curious.”

“I...none, actually,” Armie said. 

“None? Come on.”

“None. I don’t...I’m not with guys at all around here. Usually.”

Timmy stared at him. “Around here?”

“Westerly. Home. I only date at school. It’s too risky here. Someone might find out, or tell my parents, and then—“ Armie frowned and closed his eyes, the familiar lick of fear inside his chest. He shook his head. “It would be bad.”

“Oh.” Timmy pursed his lips together. “But...you’re with me.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I guess...I decided you were worth the risk.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was true, and he surged up for another kiss, wanting to wipe away the uncharacteristically uncertain look on Timmy’s face. 

It worked. When they broke apart, Timmy was grinning again. “Was it my movie star good looks? My keen wit? My fascinating conversation style?”

“Yes, yes, and...a little,” Armie said, and Timmy giggled. “We should probably head back.”

“I suppose,” Timmy said. 

They straightened the bed, raised the shades on the windows, and then shared one last kiss on the stairs before climbing back up to the main level. Armie jumped onto the dock and, just had he had on the way in, held out a hand for Timmy. 

When Timmy’s feet hit the deck, neither let go immediately, hanging on for a few extra seconds before releasing their grip and stepping apart. 

“You hate all of this, don’t you?” Timmy asked, as they made their way back to the beach club. “All of...this. What did Sally call it? Posh.” He waved a hand around at the rows of boats, the swanky clubhouse with its outdoor deck full of coiffed loafer-wearing couples. 

“No, I don’t hate it. I just...sometimes I don’t feel like I fit, not really. Like it’s an act I’m putting on, but it’s not actually me.” Armie was surprised as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He didn’t think he’d ever articulated his thoughts on his life so clearly before. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Timmy murmured. He jumped off of the wooden walkway as soon as they had passed through the gate to the beach club and scuffed his feet in the sand. “Tell me about what’s next for you. You finish Harvard, and then what?”

“Then I come back here and go to work for my father,” said Armie. 

“Right. And you don’t know what you’ll be doing.”

“Well...I know what the company does. They buy and sell other companies. So I’ll be working on that, I just don’t know exactly where he’ll put me. Maybe analysis.” Armie sighed. 

“You sound thrilled,” said Timmy. 

“I mean, it’s not what I would choose,” Armie admitted. But it is what it is.”

“What would you choose?”

Armie stopped walking. Timmy made it two steps further and turned. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. 

Armie shook his head and smiled. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

Timmy smiled back. “Well, I’m asking.”

“I have no idea,” Armie said. 

“Hmmm.” Timmy cocked his head to the side. “Think about it and let me know what you come up with.”

With a shrug, Armie started walking again. “What would be the point?”

“Humor me? Just in case,” Timmy said. “After all, you never know when something might be worth the risk.”

Someone shouted Timmy’s name, and with one last glance at Armie, he bounded forward to meet Sally, who was waving from near the water. As Armie watched, Timmy peeled his tee-shirt off and took off into the waves, laughing. 

Armie waited only a minute before his shirt joined Timmy’s in the sand. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took two days for word to reach his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, y’all. 
> 
> So sorry for the long wait on this and everything else. A confluence of events both fandom and real life interfered with the flow of the words. But I’m made of pretty strong stuff, and am not easily swayed from purpose, and so here we are. 
> 
> If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a hundred times...I’m sticking around. Those of you who are still here and reading...❤️
> 
> I hope this is worth the wait. 
> 
> 100% fiction, as always.

It took two days for word to reach his parents. 

Armie was almost surprised it had taken that long, but it seemed summer and a distraction in the form of planning their Independence Day celebrations — something Armie was trying not to think about — had kept his mother busy and out of the gossip loop for an extra day. 

At dinner on Friday — just over a week after he had met Timmy — she brought it up over rack of lamb with mint sauce. 

“Felicia Wallace tells me that her daughter has been going on and on about our next door neighbor,” she said. Her gaze focused on Armie, her blue eyes piercing. “She says that  _ you _ introduced them.”

Armie did his best not to choke on the bite he was in the middle of swallowing. He took a large sip from his water goblet and cleared his throat. 

“Yes,” he said. “We took a group from next door to Sea View a few days ago.”

Michael frowned. “I hadn’t realized you’d met the neighbors,” he said. 

“Nor had I,” said Dru. “Or that you’d been associating with them.”

“Well.” Armie carefully speared two roast carrots on his fork and brought them to his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “I ran into them on the beach. I knew you were having trouble with the noise, so I asked them to keep it down.”

“That was considerate,” Michael said. “It has been quieter.”

“I can still hear the music most nights,” Dru said, her lips pursing. “But I...suppose it’s been better than at first, and doesn’t go on all night.”

Armie focused on his plate, hoping that was the end to the conversation. Unfortunately, his mother had other ideas. 

“Felicia said they’re from Los Angeles,” Dru said, disdain clear in her tone. “The boy Sally seems to be enamored with is an  _ actor.” _

“An actor, really.” Michael hummed. “Has he been in anything I've seen?”

“How should I know?” Dru replied. “Armand, what do you know about this boy?”

Armie shrugged one shoulder, doing his best to appear like he didn’t much care, and lied through his teeth. “Not much. He’s an actor — popular — but I don’t think you’ve seen any of his movies.”

“Teen movies, I’d bet, if Sally Wallace is fond of him,” Michael said with a chuckle. “No doubt the type with all the beach scenes and dancing, like that Elvis Presley does.”

It took a lot of control for Armie not to defend Timmy’s movies to his father, but he managed to set his fork aside and take another drink of water.

“They take drugs in Los Angeles,” Dru said with a sigh. “There are probably drugs next door as we speak. I should warn Felicia. I’m surprised she’s letting Sally associate with that crowd. I wonder if we should call Sheriff Lassiter and let him know.”

“Let him know what?” Armie asked, his control snapping at his mother’s suggestion. “They aren’t like that. Timmy and his friends are just...people. They’re here on vacation for the summer and are having a good time. They aren’t a danger to anyone.”

“Well, I’d prefer it if you didn’t spend time over there, Armand,” Dru said. “You have a reputation to think of. Felicia Wallace may be willing to let her children run wild, but  _ you _ are a Hammer.”

“As if I could forget it,” Armie muttered. 

“What was that?” Michael asked. 

“Nothing. May I be excused?” Armie set his napkin next to his plate. 

Dru waved her hand at him in dismissal. “Please try to remember your appointment at the tailor tomorrow morning.”

Armie made a face. More suits. Never a good sign. 

“Have a good night mother. Father.” He turned on his heel and just barely managed not to stomp out of the room. 

Upstairs, he closed his bedroom door, kicked off his shoes, and flopped onto his bed. He’d been hoping to avoid exactly what had just happened. Now he was technically forbidden from hanging out with Timmy, and worse, his cover with the Wallaces was blown. 

Damned Sally and her busy mouth and her unfortunate crush on  _ his  _ boyfriend. 

Just as the thought swam through his brain, he regretted it. Timmy wasn’t his  _ boyfriend.  _ Except...maybe he was. They weren’t seeing anyone else, at least for now. It was temporary, and purely for fun, but still. 

Boyfriend. Maybe. 

He sighed. There was nothing to worry about with Sally, not really. She’d get bored soon enough, and Timmy had promised he wouldn’t play around with anyone else. Armie wasn’t jealous. There was no need to be. 

Rolling onto his side, he stared out the window at the darkening sky. He wished he could go next door, but after the conversation at dinner, it would be best if he didn’t, for tonight. He thought about sneaking down to his father’s office and calling to let Timmy know, but didn’t want to risk it. 

Timmy would understand. He knew that Armie would come if he could. They’d spent the past two nights together, tangled in Timmy’s creaky bed, sweating into the sheets rather than move apart and create space between them. 

Armie couldn’t get enough of the man, couldn’t seem to stop exploring every inch of his skin, getting acquainted with his muscles and movements, the way he breathed and moaned and whispered. And when they weren’t kissing and stroking each other, but were talking…

...he couldn’t get enough of that, either. 

Timmy had so many questions. Heavy, important questions. They’d progressed beyond simple likes and dislikes and amusements to things that made Armie’s chest ache to even think about.  _ When was the last time Armie was happy? What made him feel inspired? What made him sad, helpless? How did he see himself? How did he want others to see him? _

These things he had never allowed himself to dwell on for long. Maybe a rumination at night while staring out at the ocean or walking the streets of Cambridge. But when Timmy asked, he had to respond. He had to confront it all and pull the answers out of the darkest parts of himself and offer them to Timmy, guts and all. 

The fact that he wanted to, and wasn’t afraid of what Timmy would do with them, even though they’d only known each other a week...that in and of itself should worry him. It didn’t. 

Armie pictured Timmy’s moonlit face as he lay, his head resting on the pillow, his cheek smooshed up and the opposite side of his mouth curled into a playful smirk, and everything tightened. He wanted to  _ go _ . 

What if he did? What if he just got up, slipped into his shoes, walked downstairs past where his parents would be enjoying their after-dinner cocktail, and left? What if he didn’t sneak, and when they asked him where he was going, he’d tell them the truth. That he was nearly twenty-one and not a child, and it was his reputation and therefore his decision who to “associate” with, not theirs. 

He laughed bitterly, knowing it was merely a fantasy. If he did that, they’d be suspicious about why it was so important to him. They might look closer, too close. They might find out about him and then...then it would be all over. 

No. Better to lay low a few days, let them think he wasn’t spending all his time next door, let them forget about the people from Los Angeles. Timmy would understand. 

God, he hoped Timmy would understand. 

* * *

By Sunday, Armie was going out of his mind. He’d had Richie, Tom, and Jay over for cards on Saturday night, which pleased his father. Michael had poured them all bourbons and passed around cigars and asked about their futures. 

It all sounded the same. Boring, dry, unoriginal. All three were joining their respective family businesses, which involved real estate or finance. All three had trust funds that had either recently been released or would later in the year, and Michael spoke with all of them about investment portfolios. 

Armie wanted to throw the bourbon in their faces and tell them to wake up. Ask them what they really wanted, the way Timmy had asked him. Ask them if they were truly excited at the prospect of putting on a suit and going to a sterile office for the rest of their lives. 

Instead, he politely listened and agreed and feigned enthusiasm over the idea of blue chip stocks and club memberships. He pretended to be smug — even though it made him sick to his stomach — when Michael mentioned Armie being lucky to have Elizabeth and inquired about the others’ prospects for settling down and families. 

He enjoyed the card game, but the rest of the evening left him cold and longing for the warmth and vibrancy of the house next door. 

Now, he was going stir crazy. He’d stayed off the beach for two days, knowing that if he went out there he’d run into Timmy. He considered going into town, but it held no appeal other than as a distraction. So he was holed up in the house, forced into conversations with his mother about the goings on of her friends and the benefit luncheon she was organizing for her auxiliary club. 

He’d managed to talk to Timmy twice on the telephone. Timmy was disappointed that Armie was staying away, but hadn’t pressed him on it. He’d listened to and accepted Armie’s explanation that Dru and Michael had expressed displeasure in the idea of Armie spending time next door, as expected, and that Armie didn’t want them becoming suspicious. Timmy had seemed happy to hear from Armie each time, and Armie was praying that he wouldn’t lose interest and move on. 

When the rear doorbell rang just after six o’clock, Armie was reorganizing some books in the library before dinner. He looked up, listened, and when it seemed like his mother wasn’t moving to answer it — she’d been in the kitchen last he saw her — he set a book down and made his way to the back hall. 

The opened door revealed a grinning Timmy. Armie gaped at him. His stomach flipped at the sight and his pulse jumped, his hands itching to reach out and grab hold. Instead, he gripped the edge of the door tightly. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“I’m here to meet the neighbors,” Timmy said, his green eyes sparkling. “I’ve been a bit...delinquent in that, so thought it was time.”

“To meet the—“

“Armand?” Dru’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Who is it?”

Armie turned, unsure how to answer. He watched his mother appear in the doorway, his mind racing. 

“I...this is…” he glanced back at Timmy. The man was wearing neat-looking, pressed trousers and a yellow Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked…

“Mrs. Hammer?” Timmy asked, as Dru came to the door. “I’m Timothée Chalamet. I’m staying next door for the summer, and wanted to introduce myself.”

“Hello,” Dru said, a polite smile pasted on her face as her eyes took in Timmy critically. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well. I’ve admired your house from the beach. It’s beautiful.” Timmy’s smile was genuine and charming. “I’ve brought a small token to apologize if we’ve been a little loud. I’m not used to how sound carries on the ocean.”

Armie realized that Timmy had not shown up empty handed. He was holding out what looked like a pie from the bakery in town. 

“It’s not homemade,” Timmy said. “I can’t really cook. But we had one of these at the house the other day and thought it was tremendous.”

“Thank you,” Dru said, accepting the gift. She hesitated, and then her manners won out. “Would you like to come in?”

“I’d love that, thank you,” Timmy said. Dru stepped aside, and Timmy shot Armie a wink before crossing the threshold. 

Dru laid a hand on Armie’s shoulder. “Armand, take our guest into the living room. I’ll get your father. It’s time for drinks anyhow.” 

She retreated into the kitchen, and Armie looked at Timmy. 

“What are you  _ doing _ here?” he whispered. 

Timmy grinned and responded in a whisper. “I missed you. Figured if you were barricading yourself in here, I’d have to breach the wall.”

“You missed me?” Armie smiled. His eyes dropped to Timmy’s lips. 

Timmy shrugged. “You didn’t miss me?”

“Oh, I did.” Armie reached out and grabbed Timmy’s hand. Their fingers tangled together for a brief moment, and something quieted inside Armie. “Come on, let’s go to the living room.”

He led Timmy down the hall, releasing his hand but allowing their knuckles to brush as they walked. 

“How’ve you been?” Armie asked. 

“Okay. A little bored,” Timmy said. “My friends decided to take a trip up to Boston for a long weekend, so the house is pretty quiet.”

“Why didn’t you go?” Armie asked. 

“I didn’t feel like it,” Timmy said. “Thought I’d stay here, get some work done.”

They reached the living room and stepped inside. Armie glanced down the hall and then, seeing it deserted, quickly dipped his head and pressed his lips to Timmy’s briefly. When he retreated, Timmy was smiling. 

“Look at you, taking a risk,” Timmy said. He poked Armie’s stomach. “But you’d better watch yourself, because I’m hanging onto control by a thread as it is.”

He turned and crossed to one of the sofas and settled onto it. 

“You should sit over there,” Timmy suggested, pointing at the other sofa with a smirk. 

Rather than listening, Armie moved to the drink cart to begin putting together his parents’ pre-dinner cocktails. A scotch, neat, for his father, a Manhattan for his mother. 

“Would you like a drink?” Armie asked Timmy. 

“If it won’t make your parents judge me,” Timmy said. “I’m trying to make a good impression here.”

Armie tossed a grin over his shoulder. “I’ll have a scotch with my father,” Armie said. “So you should be safe.”

“Then I’ll have the same.”

Michael and Dru entered as Armie was finishing pouring the drinks. Timmy immediately got to his feet. 

“This is Timothée...Chalamet?” Dru confirmed. When Timmy nodded, she continued. “He’s in the Winston house for the summer.”

Michael reached out and shook Timmy’s hand firmly. “Good to meet you,” he said. “You’ve been a topic of conversation around here.”

“I have?” Timmy asked. He accepted the drink Armie passed him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Yes, we were wondering about you. And it seems you’ve made an impression on Armand and some of his friends.”

He accepted his own drink and passed Dru’s to her, and then they settled on the sofa opposite Timmy. Armie picked up his glass and, after a brief hesitation, took a place on Timmy’s sofa, being sure to leave a couple of feet between them. 

Timmy shot a smile at him. “Armand has been great. He’s helped us learn about the community, introduced us to people and places. He’s been very hospitable.”

It was odd hearing Timmy use his full name, and Armie smirked into his glass. The way Timmy was making it sound, they barely knew each other. 

“Glad to hear it,” Michael said. “Then you’re settling in all right? How long are you planning to stay?”

“The summer,” Timmy said. “When we came out, we weren’t sure, but now that I’ve seen this coastline and what a lovely community you have, I plan to stay until I need to be on set in September.”

Armie’s heart soared. This sounded more definite than Timmy had been when they first met. 

“Armand said you were an actor,” Dru said. “Do you...enjoy that?”

“I do,” Timmy said. “It’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do, and I’m lucky that — for now — they’re letting me.”

The clock on the wall chimed half past the hour, and Dru set her drink down and got to her feet, laying a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I need to finish up dinner,” she said. “It’ll be about ten minutes.”

“It smells wonderful,” Timmy said. “Is it roast chicken?”

“It is.” Dru watched him for a moment. “Would you like to join us?”

“Only if it wouldn’t be an imposition,” Timmy said. 

Armie froze. An entire dinner with Timmy  _ and _ his parents?

“Not at all,” Dru said. “I’ll set another place. You boys finish your drinks and make your way to the dining room. Ten minutes.”

Timmy and Michael chatted idly for another few minutes. Timmy asked about the house, and Michael’s business, which pleased Michael. 

When they moved into the dining room, Armie leaned over and whispered in Timmy’s ear. 

“Who  _ are _ you?” he asked. 

“An  _ actor,” _ Timmy replied. 

Dinner was surprisingly smooth. Timmy was a pro at managing the Hammers, and he seemed to be winning at least Michael over with his charm. He seemed genuinely interested in Michael’s talk about his business, asking all the right questions. He was polite to Dru and complimentary of the meal and the table. Armie relaxed and tried to enjoy having Timmy around, since he knew it wouldn’t last. 

Over dessert — Dru had heated the blueberry pie Timmy had brought — Timmy spoke up. 

“I’d love for Armand to join me tonight,” he said. “There is a special on broadcast television that I thought he might enjoy, and I just got a new chess board I’m looking forward to breaking in. That is, if you don’t need him here.”

“I think that would be fine,” Michael said. Dru didn’t look as certain, but she didn’t contradict her husband. 

Michael got to his feet, and Timmy and Armie followed suit. 

“You boys have a good evening,” he said. “Dru, I’ll be in my study if you’d like to join me for a cocktail.”

“I’ll be in after I clean up,” she said. 

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Hammer,” Timmy said earnestly. 

“You’re welcome. Thank you for the pie, it was delicious.” Dru stood as well. “Would you both help me bring the dishes into the kitchen?”

“Of course,” Armie said. 

They gathered the dishes and deposited them in the kitchen, and Dru shooed them out with a last farewell. 

Armie could hardly believe his luck as he silently ushered Timmy out the back door, down the patio steps, and across the lawn. They broke into laughter as they clattered down the steps to the beach, and once there he shoved Timmy under the steps and against the cliff wall. 

Timmy looked up at him, his eyes glittering with amusement. “So, what did you think of my jailbreak?” he asked, giggling.

Then Armie was kissing him, pressing their bodies together with a desperation he hadn’t known was simmering inside. He twisted his hands into Timmy’s hair, tugging at his curls, as he plunged his tongue inside Timmy’s mouth. 

Timmy responded by surging up against him, wrapping his arms around Armie’s neck and hiking a leg up over his hip. They ground together until Armie pulled away, breathing hard. 

“We should go inside,” he said.

“Yeah,” Timmy agreed. “That was fucking painful, sitting across from you and not able to touch.”

“You can touch all you want now,” Armie said. “You’ve set it up so that I can stay the night, if you want me.”

“Oh, I want you,” Timmy said. “You think I’m going to put on this—“ he gestured at his preppy outfit “—and come over and play all proper for the fun of it? I had an ulterior motive.”

He grabbed Armie’s hand and tugged, and they were running across the sand and up the stairs to Timmy’s house. As soon as they made it inside the back door, Timmy was on him again, hands roaming over his chest and stomach, lips sucking at his neck. 

“Didn’t you want to watch a movie? Where’s your — where’s your chess board?” Armie joked breathlessly. 

“In the bedroom,” Timmy said. “If we look hard enough, we might find it between the sheets. Come on.”

He pulled Armie through the empty house, leading him upstairs. 

“There’s really no one here but us?” Armie asked. 

“It’s really just us,” Timmy said. “Until tomorrow sometime. So you can be as loud as you want.”

“Me?” Armie laughed. “I don’t think I’m the one who has to work to keep quiet.”

Timmy grinned at him and entered the bedroom. “Let’s see, shall we?” He immediately pulled his shirt off. 

“Wait,” said Armie, grabbing at his hands before he could unfasten his pants. “Let me.”

With a smirk, Timmy surrendered himself to Armie, who slowly unbuttoned the pants, slowly dragged the zipper down, and slowly slid his hands underneath the fabric to squeeze Timmy’s hips. Timmy tried to wriggle out of them frantically, and Armie tightened his grip. 

“What’s the rush? We’ve got all night,” he asked, bringing his hands up Timmy’s sides and back down, loving the way the man arched into his touch. 

“The rush is that I’ve been deprived of you for two days. I’m no good at abstaining from things I like. I prefer indulging.” As if to emphasize his point, Timmy made quick work of Armie’s shirt, wrestling him out of it and tossing it aside before leaning in and licking a stripe from his breastbone to his neck.

“Everything in moderation, though, right?” Armie said, echoing his mother’s favorite caution. “Exercising control over your desires shows character.”

Timmy snorted. “Fuck that. I believe in enjoying what makes you happy. As much as you fucking want. That’s my character.”

Armie finally slid Timmy’s pants over his hips and let them slide to the floor. He loved the idea of taking what he wanted, when he wanted it, and enjoying it. It just wasn’t how he’d been raised. He’d been raised to be afraid of the very things that made him happy, since they were largely forbidden. 

Like this.  _ This _ was forbidden. He wasn’t supposed to want this, and if he wanted it, he definitely wasn’t supposed to take it. But he was sick of living like that, sick of feeling guilty for something he had no control over. Sick of feeling bad for wanting to be happy. 

He shivered as Timmy unfastened his pants and shoved them down. He stepped out of them.

“Yeah,” Armie said. “Fuck that.”

Timmy pushed him backwards and onto the bed, crawling on top of him, pupils wide, licking his lips. Armie reveled in the way Timmy seemed desperate to touch him. He still couldn’t quite believe his luck, but he wasn’t about to question it now. 

He pulled Timmy flush against him and went in for another kiss, lining up their hips and starting up a rhythm that was going to drive them crazy in no time. Timmy let him drive for a while, whimpering into his mouth and letting his hands roam all over Armie’s skin. 

Then he propped himself up on his elbows and smiled.

“What?” Armie asked. 

“Fucking finally,” Timmy said. “When I hung back and didn’t go to Boston,  _ this _ is how I imagined spending the weekend.”

“You didn’t go to Boston so you could stay here...with me,” Armie said. His heart leapt and then sank. “And then I stayed away.”

“It’s okay,” Timmy said. “I got some reading in. I was behind on reviewing those scripts.”

“I’m sorry,” Armie said. “You should have said something. I’d have figured out a way.”

“You’re here now,” Timmy said, tracing a finger along Armie’s brow. “I want to fuck you. Tonight. Now. Can I?” 

Armie’s mouth went dry, and his gut tightened. He nodded. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”

Timmy made a joyful sound and dove back in, kissing Armie roughly. Their teeth clacked together, and Timmy cupped Armie’s jaw, his fingers pressing into the joint with a possessive force. Then he climbed off and scrambled for the bedside table. 

“Roll over,” he called out as he rummaged in the drawer. 

Armie obediently rolled onto his stomach, and Timmy returned. He ran his hands over Armie’s back and ass, humming with satisfaction. Then he began to drop kisses down Armie’s spine, starting at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his tailbone. 

“You sure you’re good with this?” Timmy asked. “If you’d rather, you can fuck me.”

“I’m good,” Armie said, sighing as Timmy began to massage the muscles of his lower back. 

Then Timmy paid attention to his ass, kneading until Armie pushed back into his hands, arching his back and shoving himself onto his knees. Timmy took that as a sign he was ready — which he was — and a cool drizzle ran down his crack. Armie tucked his forehead into his hands and breathed, anticipating the finger that pushed inside him. 

He moaned as Timmy worked him open. It had been a while since he was on the receiving end — his last couple of partners had preferred it the other way around — and he was tight. He circled his hips, seeking out the pressure in exactly the right spot, and when Timmy found it, he bucked his hips. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered into the pillow, and Timmy hummed behind him, stroking over his prostate over and over until Armie was moaning freely. 

Then the fingers disappeared, and before Armie could brace himself, Timmy was sliding inside. 

It was almost like they’d been doing this for ages. There was no fumbling for a rhythm, no need for adjustment, no awkward positioning. Timmy fit inside him perfectly, and they moved together without missing a beat. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Timmy murmured, running his hands all over Armie’s back. “Every inch of you is perfect.”

Armie whimpered at the compliment, and the whimper turned into a moan as Timmy wrapped his hand around Armie’s cock and began to stroke. 

It wasn’t long after that Armie was spilling all over the sheets with a shout. Timmy sped up behind him and followed a minute later, and they collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard. 

They lay there for long minutes. Armie loved the feel of Timmy draped across his back, loved the weight pressing down on him as he breathed in deeply, loved the way Timmy’s fingers traced languidly along his arms. 

He could happily stay here forever. 

Timmy seemed to have the same idea, because he didn’t appear to want to move. After a while, Armie felt himself dozing, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

Eventually, Timmy grunted and shifted, pulling out and sliding to the bed beside Armie. He curled against his side and kissed his shoulder. 

“Doing okay?” he asked. “Was that—“

“It was incredible,” Armie said. He rolled onto his side and pulled Timmy into his chest. “Can we do it again?”

Timmy grinned. “As much as we want, remember? Next time, you do me.”

“Deal,” Armie said. He stretched and grimaced. 

“Sore?” Timmy asked. 

“Sticky,” Armie replied. 

“Shower,” Timmy said. 

A few minutes later, they were jockeying for position in the shower, laughing as they soaped each other up and narrowly missed giving each other black eyes as they twisted around in the narrow space. Somehow, they managed. 

When they returned to the bedroom, Armie picked up Timmy’s clothes and draped them across the chair. 

“Where did you get these?” he asked. “I didn’t know you owned threads like this.”

“They’re Giulian’s,” Timmy said. “But I might keep them. In case I need them again.”

“You were great, by the way,” Armie said. “I barely recognized you, but my father liked you.”

“Not your mother?”

“She says you probably have drugs.”

Timmy laughed. “Well, I  _ do _ have drugs. Speaking of...come outside with me, I wanna smoke a joint.”

They donned pants and made their way out to the back patio. Timmy set about rolling the joint, and Armie sat back and watched the orange rays of the setting sun play across ocean waves. After a minute, he picked up a stack of paper from the coffee table. 

It was a script. He flipped through it idly, reading a few lines here and there. 

“This something you’re considering?” he asked. 

Timmy glanced over and shrugged. “Maybe. The part is decent. I’m not sure about the movie as a whole, though.” He picked up the joint, swiveled around so his back was against the side of the sofa, and slung his legs across Armie’s lap. 

Armie continued to skim through the script as Timmy lit up the joint. He snickered at one line of dialogue. 

“What part’s funny?” Timmy asked. 

Armie passed Timmy the script, and Timmy offered the joint to Armie. He took a hit while Timmy glanced over the page and smiled. 

“Oh, yeah. See? This character’s decent. Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” Armie said, passing the joint back. 

“Read this scene with me?” Timmy asked. “You can be the best friend. I keep coming back to this one, and I want to get a feel for it, see if it fits.”

He scooted closer so they could both see the pages in the fading light. 

It felt awkward at first, but after a couple of pages — and a couple more hits — Armie began to enjoy himself. They read more than the one scene, Timmy flipping back and forth to find other bits to try. Eventually, when the light had faded too much to see any longer, he sat back and sighed with contentment. 

“I think I like it,” he said. “What do you think?”

“It’s good,” Armie said. “Funny in places, but...substantial, somehow. Like it seems to be saying something.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Timmy peered at Armie. “Hey, you were good. Have you ever acted before?”

“No, not really. A school thing here and there.”

“What kind of school thing?”

Armie shrugged. “I was the Stage Manager in _Our Town_ in high school.”

Timmy blinked at him. “Well, that’s not nothing.”

“It was just a school play.” Armie fidgeted, playing with the cuffs of Timmy’s pants. “It’s not like it was professional.”

“Did you like it?” Timmy asked. 

Armie looked out at the horizon. The last hazy violet-greys were beginning to slide towards black. The moon hadn’t risen, and soon it would be very dark. 

Had he liked performing? Yes, he had. But it had never mattered. His parents had allowed the dalliance because his studies hadn’t faltered, but that’s all it was, in their eyes. So that’s all it had been in his. Something to pass the time, nothing more. 

“Yes,” he said, finally. “I loved it.”

Timmy was quiet for another minute, and then he said, “Want to read more scripts with me?”

“Sure,” Armie said.

“After I get you naked again,” Timmy said. “Priorities.”

“Priorities,” Armie agreed, laughing. 

He was still laughing as Timmy tackled him onto his back and kissed him until he was once again breathless. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m onlyastoryteller on Tumblr if you need to yell at me.


End file.
